And Shine Heaven Now
by Fionn Whelan
Summary: A HellsingSimpsons crossover. With the help of Alucard and Seras, the Simpsons take on the UnDead menace once again. Part of my Simpsons Vampires series. Formerly rated M, may change again with next chapters. Violence, language. Please Read & Review.
1. The Nightmare Unfolds

Chapter 1

Part1

Gina Vendetti-age twenty four, single-with dark hair sporting a single purple streak, and dark eyes burning with determination, was on her way home from the Kwik-E-Mart on the night of her first encounter. She had just rounded the corner and reached her neighborhood. It was a quiet, residential district with little crime and broad, tree-lined streets where children played during the afternoons and early evenings of the sundrenched summers. Thus, she was surprised to see a gang of threatening men loitering on the sidewalk ahead of her. They reacted to her approach, and, as she drew nearer, began to fidget and edge out of the shadows, like lazy hounds rising to their meal. Gina increased her pace, walking past them swiftly, ignoring their whistling and tongue clucking. Another group of toughs emerged from the alleyway ahead of her, and it was then she realised that flight was not an option. Already they were closing in on her, forming a semi circle around her, the wall as the 'hard place' to their 'rock'. Gina dropped her groceries, grabbing a bottle of wine from one of the bags as they dropped towards the ground. She swung it at the nearest thug, smashing it open across his head and spraying the crowd with cheap Ogdenville table wine. She swung the sharp, broken end at her attackers, driving them back, then socked one in the face with her free hand. She dashed through the opening created by the two reeling toughs, and would have run all the way home were the way not blocked by still more leering hooligans.

"Hello-'ello, luv," someone said. A kid dressed as Alex from _A Clockwork Orange_ emerged from the crowd, holding a cane.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

" 'Old on, little devotcha. No need for the old stabby slashy. Jus' looking for a bit of fun. A quick in-out with you an' the lads an' we'll be on our own oddy-knocky ways, right as rain, no problemo. But if you're at us with the broko vino bott'l, then we'll go with a bit o' the ultraviolence on you. Now be a dear, let down the old face-slasher, an' we won't be too long."

Gina paused. She hadn't understood a word he had said.

"You get the fuck away from me! I'll smash yer fucking face!"

The hoodlum looked to his mates, grinning.

"Very well then!" He spun his cane in his hand and then swung it, smashing Gina's impromptu weapon. He swung again, striking her upon the head and sending her staggering into the wall. He pressed his cane against her neck, choking her. As she gasped and coughed, he grinned and laughed wickedly. Gina watched in terror as his face contorted, the eyebrows rising, the lips pulling back, revealing yellowed fangs, his eyes turning yellow and luminous.

A shot rang out. The hoodlum paused, and looked about his fellows. One fell, bursting into a cloud of ash at the ground. Silhouted in the alleyway stood a young man holding a revolver.

"Bloody hell, a hunter!"

Another shot rang out, this one hitting the hoodlum pinning Gina against the wall in the groin.

"Fucking-A! Ya bloody blew me yarbles off!" He fell to the ground, releasing Gina, who slid to the ground, gasping.

The hoodlums fled, hooting and screaming. Gina looked up and saw a young man with spiked blond hair and scraggly facial hair looking down at her. He held a ridiculously large revolver, which she guess had to be a .44. He offered her his hand, and helped her to her feet.

She coughed, then asked.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Bart Simpson, who the hell are you?"

"Bart!"

part 2

"Bart? Bart Simpson?"

"Oh my God, Gina? How you doin?"

"Well…considering I just nearly got raped and murdered, not to shabby."

On the ground, the "Alex"-esque hoodlum was crawling towards his cane. He grabbed ahold of it, and screwed the handle loose, revealing a small blade.

"What's with the piece?"

"Self defense. Lucky for you, I away carry it with me."

The man threw himself at them, screaming and stabbing downwards with his knife. Bart fired, knocking him back down.

"See?"

They got into Bart's car. Bart tried to explain.

"So, essentially…you're a radio host by day, a vampire hunter by night, and…you and your whole family, and bunch of other guys, are in on it too."

"Yup."

She shook her head.

"You're fucking insane."

"Oh, really? What about back there? The guy? The dust? That was all hallucination?"

She looked at him.

"Vampires are real, man."

"Shit."


	2. Beginning of the Bad News

The Beginning of the Bad News

Gina opened her eyes. The phone was ringing. Wearily, she sat up in her bed, still cocooned in her covers, and picked up the phone.

"…Yeah?"

"Ms. Vendetti, forgive the unpleasant wake-up call, but I'm afraid this is urgent. I'm Brian Callahan, member of the Order of the Knights of St. Michael."

_Crap…it wasn't just a dream…_

"We need you to suit up and meet the rest of us at the Springfield Memorial Hospital. A local man has been attacked."

"By…vampires?"

"Not exactly. Its complicated."

…_I'll bet._

"Alright, I'll get there."

"Thank you. Oh, and remember to bring your pistol."

She remembered. A .380 ACP semi-automatic. She'd purchased it shortly after receiving several death threats at work, mostly from irate and slightly drunk parents demanding that she release their children. As a warden at the Springfield Juvenile Penitentiary (the sign at the opening gates proudly proclaiming "As Seen on 'Sixty Minutes'"), the country's third worst juvenile prison, she'd made her share of enemies. She opened her bedside drawer. There it was. A full magazine lay next to it, and another, an illegal twelve-shot clip (state law limited handguns to 10-shot clips), a holster, and a small, white, cardboard box. She picked it up and opened it. Fifty small, shiny cartridges with bright, silver-white bullets gleamed in the dim light.

_Silver bullets..._She looked at the tips. _Hollowpoints…with gold centers for weight._ Bart had sent them to her a few days earlier. An attached note explained that gold was only slightly less effective than silver on the UnDead. _I must be nuts_, she thought as she started loading her illegal clip with the special bullets. She slid the clip in her pistol, then cocked it. She flicked the safety into the "safe" position, then holstered her weapon. She put a few extra rounds in her pants pocket, then set the box down closed the door.

As she drove to the hospital, Gina felt her anxiousness grow. It had now been a month since her attack, and she had begun to think that the whole experience must have been some sort of delusion, or a drunken hallucination, or a terrible stress-induced dream. _Stress. Jeez, have I even used that word ever?_ Complaining, self-pity, had never been Gina's method.

She turned on the radio to distract herself from her worries.

"Hello my kitties, you're listening to nights with Alice Cooper. This is the sick freak himself, broadcasting from an undisclosed location somewhere in the American desert. That was "Down South Jukin'…by Lynerd Skynerd. Can never get that name right. Here's Pink Floyd's "Pigs…_three_ different kinds" off of their album _"ANIMALS"_!"

"Big man, Pig man…ha ha, charade you are…"

Gina turned up the volume. She loved that song. The familiar chord progressions and comical pig noises made her smile. All too soon though, the song was over, and Springfield Memorial Hospital loomed ahead of her, a great tower of flourescant white and green glass.

She saw Bart in the lobby, slouching on a bench with his usual air of smug disinterest. Across from him sat a young girl with the same blonde hair and same nose-Gina recognized her as Lisa, Bart's younger sister. Next to Lisa was a someone that Gina had not seen before, a man brown hair and green eyes, glasses, tweed jacket. He was clearly Lisa's boyfriend, Gina reasoned, from the way Lisa was squeezing his hand anxiously, and the way he patted her shoulder comfortingly. It was he who saw Gina first.

"Here she is now."

"Hey Gina."

"Hello, Bart. Lisa." She said, looking at each respective person, then pausing on the young man.

"Brian Callahan, professor, Springfield University," he said, taking her hand in a quick, nervous handshake.

"Well," Lisa interjected after a second of dead air, "Let's go see the victim."

In the elevator a few minutes later, Gina finally asked "Who's the victim?"

"Some old geezer," Bart blurted.

"Bart! Hollis Hurlbut is not some old geezer. He's the curator of the Springfield City Museum, president of the Springfield Historical Society, and a respected local historian."

"His house was broken into, and several historical pieces were stolen. He walked in on the burglars and got hit over the head with a brass lamp." Brian added.

Gina was growing confused and anxious over the whole matter. _Too bad for Hullbutt, but what the hell does this have to do with anything, least of all…vampires!_

"And this concerns you guys and me…how?"

Brian adjusted his glasses on his nose before replying, somewhat painedly,

"Mr. Hurlbut's collection included a diary by one Shelby Manhattan, founder of Shelbyville. Let me finish!" he added, seeing Gina's growing impatience, "Shelby, after the founding of Shelbyville, went on his own, exploring the mountains and backcountry of Springfield county and beyond. In the mountains, he encountered a small Indian tribe. He befriended the natives, and lived in their village for several years, recording their customs and legends. One such legend spoke of an ancient warrior who defended their ancestors from various threats-demons, rival tribes, a giant bear, and so forth. But one of these mythical threats is particularly of interest to us-a man who walked the woods by night, preying on men and women, draining their blood from their bodies in order to sustain his own life. Those who he slew would rise from the graves and attack their fellows, and could only be killed by decapitation-"

The elevator doors opened. They got off the elevator and walked down the hall.

"-or, by being bound, and burned to ashes. The warrior tried to defeat the vampire, but found him to powerful to destroy by any means available, so, instead of destroying him, he fought the creature until it was very weak, then buried it in an ravine in the mountains, and sealed it in with a powerful spell."

Gina bit her lip, her mind processing the story.

"Why is that book so important?"

"Because, you must understand, Shelby was, of course, fascinated by the story, and asked where the vampire man was said to be buried. The location of the vampire man's grave was in that book."

Lisa saw the confusion in Gina's face. _Also…_Lisa thought.

"Also, the tale is of particular interest to us because it is the only record of vampires in North America in prehistoric times. The first evidence of vampires in the "New World" appeared only in the last centuries of the Aztec and Incan empires, when, according to what little we know about them, they were borne of sorcery, but _they_ were exterminated by the Spaniards. After that, vampires didn't appear in the Western hemisphere until permanent settlements popped up and regular transatlantic trade was established."

Gina nodded. _I get it._

"So, you think someone might have gotten this book so they could find the vampire man?"

"And awaken him, yes," Lisa answered.

Gina shook her head in disbelief. _Crap, it's like I'm trapped in a bad episode of "Buffy"._

They found officers Dolph and Jimbo questioning Mr. Hurlbut in his room. Jimbo acknowledged Bart with a nod, then, after finishing the questioning, stepped outside to speak with them.

"He's not gonna be much help. Says it was dark and they hit him before he knew what was happening."

"He is going to be alright, though?" Lisa begged.

"He'll be fine. A mild concussion, no breakage," Dolph told her tiredly.

"We'll let you guys stop by and say hi if you want," Jimbo said, then, turning to Dolph,

"Let's head back."

Lisa rushed in to talk to her old friend. Bart looked to Gina, who was staring at Jimbo and Dolph as they headed down the hall.

"Part of group."

Gina raised an eyebrow.

"You even have cops on the payroll?"

"Well, not, you know, we don't pay them. They volunteered."

Gina sighed.

"I honestly don't know what's more frightening: that we have cops that think vampires are real, or that they're right."

In the room, Lisa stood by Mr. Hurlbut's bedside. He blinked a few times, then, finally seeing her clearly, smiled.

"Miss Simpson! Gracious!"

"Hello Mr. Hurlbut. Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine! I must say, those rascals sure hit me hard."

"Do you have any idea why they were after your collection?"

"Lisa, I just finished telling those nice young officers everything I know. I don't have the slightest idea as to why, of all things, they'd steal the diary and correspondence of Shelbyville Manhattan. I imagine they plan to sell it on the black market, but honestly, why steal an old book and some letters when I have so many things of much greater value. I have Jebediah Springfield's musket, the pelt from a now-extinct Springfield black cougar, an three of the five remaining coins minted by Springfield when it was briefly an independent state after it seceded from the Union and then seceded from the Southern states after they discovered that they allowed slavery!"

He chuckled weakly, and Lisa smiled, saying, "All part of our town's 'never give up' and 'never think things out' mentality."

"Indeed." He coughed a few times, clearing his throat. "Meh. When you reach my age you'll find that you'll have a lot more phlegm in your throat."

Lisa thought hard, trying to think of something to ask, something that might jog the old man's memory, or at least a question to which he'd give a different from the one he'd given the police. Failing to think of such a thing, she asked, "Have you ever shown the diary to anyone? Anyone?"

Mr. Hurlbut paused, twitching his mustache as he pursed his lips.

"Well, last time was Gerald Mettfield, when I lent him the book for a reference for his book of Springfield legends. He was especially fascinated by the "vampire man" story, if I can recall. Sorry Lisa, I'm afraid he's long dead now. But wait…there was that woman at that Christmas party about two years ago."

"What woman?"

"It was the Springfield Historical Society's annual Christmas party. You should remember, you were there, weren't you?"

"Oh…yes."

"Some feminist historian, claimed to be a professor at some eastern university. Came in with a friend of hers, beautiful young ladies, the both of them…though I seriously doubt if she was all that she said she was. Couldn't have been older that twenty! They slipped away from the main party to look at my gallery, and were particularly interested in Shelby's journal. I even took it out of the case and showed bits of it to them. Asked to buy it," he laughed, "But I told them that I had purchased it from a collector at a ridiculous price, and that, to turn a profit on it, I'd have to essentially rob the person I sold it to."

Lisa felt a cold feeling in her gut. Now she was certain that she knew who had stolen the journal.

"You wouldn't happen to know their names, would you?"

"Now, you don't plan on bothering the poor women, do you? I mean, I seriously, why would two wealthy women risk arrest and the loss of their careers for a moldy old diary of some obscure historical figure? Besides, as I told those policemen, I did hear a man's voice saying something, and that lamp they hit me with weighed upwards of fifty pounds! And, furthermore, I'd had it rubber cemented onto its table, because the darn thing kept falling over and ruing the hardwood."

Lisa looked away, thinking.

"No, I won't bother them. Well, Mr. Hurlbut, I hope you get better soon."

"Likewise. You take care of yourself, Lisa."

Lisa left the room, closing the door behind herself swiftly. Bart and Gina walked up to her, returning from a run to the snack machines down the hall.

"We have to talk to Father Nell."

Three hours later, at half past three, the entire group had assembled in the rectory of St. Jerome's Church. Father Nell O'Flaherty, member of the Society of Jesus and Opus Dei, stood at the head of the long wooden table used for their meetings.

"My friends, I apologize fer interrupting yer sleeping, but we've quite a serious matter…Willie!"

"What?"

"Where're your pajamas?"

"I lost them in a card game."

"God give me th'strength…Anyhoo, this is the first vampire-related attack in a month. The last was Gina's, which was the first one we'd seen in three months. And the one before that was the first one we'd seen…since Mr. Burns was slain. Now, while it is extremely unlikely that Burns has returned, considering the method by which he was slain, this most likely indicates the arrival of a coven from outside the area."

Kearney raised a hand.

"Father Nell, what exactly is so important about this stupid diary anyhow?"

Father O'Flaherty took in a deep breath and explained.

"If those who stole it can find the burial place of the vampire man, if it does indeed exist, then it is possible that they will be able to awaken him."

"Why would that matter?" Bart asked.

Father Nell looked quite grave

Skinner spoke up, "Perhaps, er, Reverend, you're not giving us the complete story."

Fr. Nell looked up.

"Aye. I have not told you why I am worried about this."

He pulled down a large map of the world.

"Many thousands of years ago, the species of man, _homo sapiens_, appeared on this planet. Now, while scientifically the evolutionary offspring of African primates, at some point, the immortal soul entered one of these creatures. He was the first man, called "Adam" in the Bible, and later came the first woman, "Eve". Adam and Eve were perfect, in communion with God, and in no way imperiled or in conflict with their surroundings. As you all know, Adam and Eve, by misuse of their free will, sinned, falling from God's grace. Later, Adam and Eve's son, Cain, killed his brother Abel, committing the first murder, and was thus, expelled by God Himself from the company of his fellow man. That is the Bible. Historically, we know that man began in Africa and traveled eastward, colonizing the Middle East, then Europe, and eventually Asia. Primitive man journeyed from Asia into North America via the Bering land bridge during the last Ice A-!"

"Is this going anywhere?" Bart interrupted.

"Quiet, boy! The man's talking!"

"Ahem. Those peoples were the ancestors of the American natives. Now, South America was devoid of vampires until the last two centuries before the arrival of the Europeans. They were the product of Satanic rituals, especially those involving human sacrifice to the god Quetzalcoatl. These vampires were completely destroyed, however, by the conquistadors, and vampires were not again seen in the New World until the early eighteenth century, when they came over on ships from Europe and Asia. Until then, North America, excluding Aztec Mexico, was completely devoid of vampires. Except for this one, the "vampire man". He must have crossed over from Russia during the last Ice Age, as vampires are unable to cross oceans without human assistance."

"Now, this is not in any part of traditional Christian belief, but some have theorized that Cain, the first man to shed his fellow man's blood, banished from humanity by Divine edict, allied himself with Satan, whom the Bible calls "murderer from the beginning". These theorists, many of them vampire hunters, say that Cain made a pact with the Devil, and became the first vampire. If so, then its possible that he is indeed the First, the leader of the UnDead, more powerful than any of the nosferatu. And if that is true, and the vampire man is indeed the first, then whoever stole that journal seeks to resurrect him."

Father Nell sighed and rolled up the map, then, trembling and staggering slightly, got himself a glass of scotch. Father Sean, his apprentice, continued.

"Doing such would unleash upon man a terror unknown for centuries. The vampire population has been slowly but steadily growing since the Protestant Reformation, and exploded at the dawn of the last century. Add to the equation the most powerful vampire that ever walked the earth, a weakened Church, and a world rife with wickedness, and it could very well spell the end of the world."

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Brian asked. "After all, the end of the world, the Apocalypse, would mark the completion of Christ's plans, and the end of all evil."

"I doubt it'd be the end," Fr. Nell said with a cough from the counter where he had been drinking, "But it would be the start of one of the darkest era man has ever known, bringing the death of thousands, possibly millions of innocent people for…God only knows, centuries of darkness. And… if these _are_ the End Times, it would mean that we have all the more duty to combat the forces of evil…to the death."

"Nice knowin' ye," Willie said, standing up and rushing for the door.

"I'm out!" Moe said.

"I'm with Moe!" Millhouse said.

"Me too!" Homer said.

"Sit yer craven arse down, the lot a' ye!" Father Sean growled, pulling out his revolver.

The four sat down, bearing scornful looks from the group.

"So…what can we do?" Fr. Sean asked, setting his pistol on the table.

Father Nell sniffed, then rubbed his nose.

"We've no choice but to go to the grave of the vampire man, and prevent his resurrection."

Sideshow Mel stood suddenly, and raised his hand dramatically.

"_I_ shall contact my cousin Robert Terwilliger! He, his wife, and their socipathic offspring

Gino would all be valuable assets to our cause."

Bart shuddered.

"Terwilliger?" Gina asked, "Isn't he that escaped lunatic that got elected mayor about ten years ago?"

"He also framed Krusty the Clown for armed robbery!" Mel added.

"At my store!" Apu chimed in.

"He also tried to kill my aunt," Lisa said.

"And he's tried to kill me so many times its not funny anymore!"

"He currently works as a mercenary and yakuza hit man, along with his wife and son," Fr. Sean stated.

"And he's coming to Springfield to live with us," Homer said in a happy voice.

"He's not staying at our house!" Marge yelled.

"And he's coming to Springfield."

"Swell," Gina muttered.

Mel called Bob later that night. Fr. Sean made arrangements with Fat Tony, local mafia kingpin and parishioner (his position in the community ensured that his children got straight A's at St. Jerome's Elementary, and his sons were always altar boys for Christmas and Easter Mass) to have Bob, his family, and their weapons (some of which would be illegal in any country, and all of which were illegal in Japan) flown by helicopter out from the U.S. embassy in Tokyo to an aircraft carrier waiting offshore. That aircraft carrier, captained by a cousin of one of Fat Tony's lieutenants, would cary them to Hawaii, where a private jet would fly them into Springfield.

Meanwhile, Father O'Flaherty was busy sending an urgent e-mail to Britain.

_To the Most Esteemed Sir Integra Fairbrooks Wingates of the House of Hellsing,_

_My name is Father Nell Fitzgerald O'Flaherty of the Society of Jesus, vicar of St. Jerome's Church and leader of the Sacred Order of the Knights of St. Michael the Archangel-which is, as I am certain you know, the Roman Catholic Church's anti-vampire society._

_I am well aware of the unpleasantness between your organization, the Holy Order of Protestant Knights, the Hellsing Organization, has had with members of the Catholic faith, specifically members of the now-defunct Iscariot Organization. While my organization is not Iscariot, and, unlike Iscariot, is composed almost entirely of laity, and, again, unlike Iscariot, is not under the jurisdiction of the Curia or the standard hierarchy of the Church, but is, rather, answerable only to His Holiness Pope Benedict the Sixteenth, I know that saying such will do nothing to ease any animosity between us. _

_But what is about to occur in my own town is larger than any inter-denominational feud. I have every reason to believe that the First, the first vampire, the Master, is nearby, lying dormant, and that local vampires and/or vampire cultists seek to resurrect him. This cannot be allowed to happen. My group, though well equipped and somewhat experienced, is small, and composed almost entirely of civilians, many of whom are under the age of twenty-five. We have no way of knowing how many adversaries we will face, or whether we will even be able to prevent them from achieving their goal. _

_I desperately request your assistance in this matter. I do not ask for a large force-Alucard alone will be more than sufficient. Alucard has assisted us before, as you know. While he was only helping us as while on a stateside mission, he proved more than useful, and I saw with my own eyes that he is an incredibly efficient slayer. _

_As expediency is vital, I am sending this via e-mail. For security reasons, I am using another's computer, and am encrypting this message. Of course, your technicians should be able to break the code in a matter of minutes. In case the message is not certain to reach you, I am sending my friend Akira Nagata to take a printed copy to Hellsing HQ. _

_Again, as a precaution against this message's interception, are to ask anyone claiming to be a courier what the inscription on Alucard's glove is. Whoever reaches yon with a written note claiming to be from Fr. Nell O'Flaherty from Springfield, if he is authentic, will be able to answer the question._

_Yours In Christ,_

_Rev. Nell Fitzgerald O'Flaherty, S.J._

Two days later, Bob, Francesca, and Gino arrived in Springfield. The group was there to meet them. Bart was particularly nervous, especially since the three people devoted to killing him were now trained assassins who were armed to the teeth.

They found the three Terwilligers, dapper and well-moisturized, standing with their bags.

"Hello…father, Simpsons…_hello, Bart_."

"Meep."

"Simpson-a family, padre, _bonjourno_," Francesca chimed, her face smiling, but her eyes dark with hatred.

"Bart…" Gino hissed under his breath.

Bart turned to look at him with a jerk. Gino was now a tall, dark-haired boy of thirteen, his wild Terwilliger tied back in a ponytail, and a bag at his feet that looked frighteningly like a gun case.

"So," Marge said, trying to be civil, "Did you have good flight?"

"Why yes, Marjorie. The food was the best we've had in months. Japanese food is not what the Happy Sumo would have you think. Remind me to send my thanks to Mr. D'Amicco."

"The eggplant parmesan was delicious," Francesca said.

"Why was the in-flight movie _Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood_?" Gino asked.

"It's Fat Tony's favorite movie. Tell anyone and you won't live until the next sundown!" Bob growled.

Bart turned to leave.

"Where are you going, Bart?"

"I have to get to work."

"It was good to see you again, Bart," Bob said.

"Whatever."

As soon as he turned away, his face contorted with the rage he had contained while facing Bob. His mind was a churning mess of anger, half-thoughts, and blurred recollections, all churning nonstop while he drove to work. His distraction and traffic meant he got to work half an hour later.

He found Jessica chatting up a male caller on air.

"Well, I dunno, you sure sound like a hottie..."

Bart took his microphone and shouted into it, "Hey, sleazewad, if you want to talk to an oversexed skank, call the phone sex line. Its cheaper than Jess here, and you won't be grossing out my listeners. Get bent."

And he pressed the button to disconnect the call.

Jessica was irrate.

"Um, hello, Bart?"

Bart ignored her, sitting down, putting on his headphones, and checking the list of songs that Jessica had set up for the day.

"Let's see...what crap did Jess set up to torture you guys? Good Charlotte? Janis Joplin? Beach Boys! _Stevie Frickin' Nix!_ Not on my watch, toots! Mac!" He yelledat thehis friend in the sound booth. "Put"Tommy" byThe Who on."

Bart turned off his microphone. Jess, planning on chewing him out, did the same.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You showup two hours late,insult me on the air, ridicule my choice of music, and then-where are you going?"

Bart was halfway to the door. He turned wearily.

"I got a bottle of Chiakinov vodka in my car. I'll need it to get through a day with _you_."

Bart brought the bottle back into the studio, and proceeded to drink himself into a stupor. Drunk, he no longer hated Jessica, and couldn't feel the sharp words she flung at him. What remained was his sadness.

At the end of the day, the two got in their cars, having not spoken another word to each other all day, and drove away.

Bart turned on his CD player. His Cars disc was in, and was playing "Baby Why Can't I Have You". He skipped to the next song. _Man, the irony._

He wondered at it all. He loved Jessica. He had since they had first met when he was ten years old. But all his love for her got him was a broken heart and the charge of stealing from the First Church of Springfield collection plate.

Twelve years later, and he and Jessica were working together at KBXL. Two years working side by side produced a strange love-hate relationship marked by mockery and partially-serious insults. A year ago found them in one another's arms just at the time that Mr. Burns returned from the dead as a vengeful UnDead bent on destroying Bart and his family. Jessica joined in the fight against Burns. Burns was slain, but the stress of the fight and the constant threat of death for two months destroyed the relationship. Jessica went back to treating him with condescension, and having numerous sordid affairs with the hope of sparking Bart's jealousy. And in that they succeeded. Bart truly loved Jessica, and hated to see her used, even by her own choice, but, after their brief romance the previous Autumn, he came to see her tainted, dirty, and impossible to be close to without hurting himself, and his family.

Jessica drove through the city, starring vacantly ahead. She turned on the radio, the dial set to KBXL. _My station..._

Pink Floyd's "Pigs on the Wing" was playing. The melodic guitars and somber lyrics swelled her aching heart to the limits of sorrow. Her eyes teared. She thought of how cruel she was to Bart, and how that cruelty only resulted in his being just as cruel to her.

On and on in a self-perpetuating cycle of hatred. Hatred where, in all rights, there should have been love.

Jessica wanted to love Bart. At times, she thought that she had, and others, she wished that she could. But, deep within the darkest recesses of her heart, she doubted whether she knew what love was, or that such a thing was possible for a human being.

Her parents certainly didn't love one another. Her mother was only interested in social status and living comfortably. Her father wanted only power and esteem, and religion was merely the path he saw fit to take to get them. He cheated on her mother countless times. She didn't care. Theirs was a marriage of convenience and economic comfort: nothing more. She herself had several affairs, some with the women of the church, and it was only after her divorce from Rev. Lovejoy and her consequent spiral into drink and methadone abuse that her personal life became known.

It was into that home that Jessica was born. Any material thing she could have reasonably wanted was hers to own. The only thing she could not have was love-her parents had only enough to spend on themselves. She learned swiftly that her father did not believe what he preached to the stupid slobs of the town, and that, at least, in Protestant Springfield, holiness was not based on what you did, but on what your fellow man saw you doing. She learned the devious lessons of hypocrisy, maintaining a facade of goodness and gentility in front of adults and her fairweather friends, but showing her true nature to those she deemed "already bad", and thus, unconcerned with her behavior. Ostensibly Christian (New Reformed Western Presby-Lutheran, to be precise) in her childhood, in high school, with her father out of town, living his televangelist dreams, and her mother so drunk and dazed that she coudln't care less what her daughter believed in, she became an atheist. When she met Bart again years later, she was surprised and disgusted by his conversion to Catholicism. Part of her felt it as a betrayal of her church, which, like her father, she hated yet still felt connected to, and the other part, the "rational" atheist portion, was disgusted by his embracing such a backwards creed that would forbid female clergy, pray to dead people, believe that a priest can turn wine into blood, and say all gays, non-Catholics, and single mothers are going to Hell.

Jessica reached her apartment. She wondered in it would be easier to fall asleep in the car. She forced herself up the stairs, into the room. She dropped her keys on the floor, fell onto the couch, and started to cry.

Joke Explanation: A bit of humor some may not get. In the episode in which Gina is introduced, "The Wandering Juvie" (Season Fifteen), she is voiced by guest star Sarah Michelle Gellar, who played Buffy Summers in the much-loved series "Buffy the Vampire Slayer". Any reference Gina makes to Buffy, or Sara Michelle Gellar's career, is a self-aware joke.

Character notes: Fr. Sean is the priest introduced in "The Father, The Son, and The Holy Guest Star", originally voiced by Liam Neeson. Fr. O'Flaherty is the composite of the priest from the "Scream-a-pillar" episode (the one with Carmen Electra as a needless guest voice), and Nell Flaherty, a man from the Irish song "Nell Flaherty's Drake".


	3. And Shine Heaven Now

And Shine Heaven Now

_London, the United Kingdom_…

It was one a.m. Late, or early, for some. Either way, Sir Integra was tired. She gulped down a mouthful of hot tea. _Strong batch. Good. I need some caffeine._ Integra swore she'd just check her e-mail before finishing the rest of the forms stacked up on her desk. Bills, notices, requests, orders, amendments of those orders, tax forms…the paper and electronic beaurocracy of the business of heading a government body. _With power...comes heaps of paperwork. I'll just see if I still have any human friends out there._

She opened her electronic mailbox. _Let's see…"enlarge my whatsis"? No thank you. Delete. Refinance…delete. One of my old school friends…is incarcerated for multiple drug charges, and wants to know if I can recommend an attorney. Sorry love, no. "Urgent"? Fr. Nell O'Flaherty?_

She opened the e-mail and began to read.

Alucard materialized from the shadows behind her desk.

"Hello, Alucard."

He grinned.

"Darn. I thought I was being sneaky. What would you happen to be looking at this time of night?"

"Pornography, what else."

Alucard took a step backwards, her answer catching him completely by surprise. He quickly realized that she was not serious.

"I'm kidding, Alucard. I'm checking my e-mail."

Alucard was looking off into the shadows, lost in reverie.

"This one would be of particular interest to you Servant, have a look."

Alucard stepped forward to look at the screen. He read the message, then grinned.

"Sounds like they're quite a nasty mess over there in Springfield."

"Yes. We can't be certain of the message's authenticity. Nell's trustworthy, one of the few RC's that is, but there is a possibility that this could be just as ruse by one of our enemies to try to lure you into a trap."

"If so, then all they'd be doing is giving me some exercise."

"We have better uses for you than satisfying some UnDead morons' desire to test their mettle. He does say that we can expect his messenger by tomorrow night."

"Akira Nagata?"

"He's a distant cousin of Yumie-slash-Sister Yumiko."

"Oh yes, the bipolar nun. I hope he doesn't take after her."

"In being mad, no. But he does have her skill with a blade. He prefers using the same knives he cooks with. He'll probably smuggle them in, claiming that they're his equipment for some chef's conference or some similar falderal."

"Fr. O'Flaherty expresses some concern that other parties may intercept this. I guess that's why he mentions the test," Alucard purred, looking at the pentagram on his white gloves.

_The next evening…_

Akira walked along the darkened city streets, carrying a slip of paper and his box of cooking implements-including his precious collection of ginsu and santoku knives. Integra was right in judging his deception of the airport security. He would frequently check the slip of paper to verify the address of his destination.

After some time winding around the city, and a brief stop at a pub for some nourishment, he resumed his search. He reached the Hellsing Compound some time after sundown. He was greeter at the gates by two armed guards.

"Good evening, I'm-"

The guards immediately pointed their rifles at him.

"Let me guess, Akira Nagata?"

"Do you know how many assassins we've had to shoot that came up here saying that?"

"Judging from that corpse pile, six?"

"Nine. We carried the first three to the dumpsters around the corner. Got too much trouble."

"Just answer the question so we can shoot you."

"Right. Well, the inscription on Alucard's glove is "And Shine Heaven Now."

There was a shocked silence.

"Perfect."

All three jumped. Alucard had appeared in the darkness.

"I was hoping this was for real. Finally, some excitement."

In the dungeons below the Hellsing Organization headquarters, Seras Victoria lay asleep in her coffin, tormented, as always, in her dreams by the floating Baron Harkonen…and Sting. She woke from her slumber with a start, her super sharp senses detecting another's presence in her room. She threw open her coffin lid to find Walter Donnez standing at her dinner table, setting a bucket of iced bags of medical blood and a clean gilded soup bowl.

"Ah, good evening, Miss Victoria. Drink up, you'll need your strength. Sir Integra has quite a mission in store for you and your master."

Seras sat up.

"Oh?"

"I believe you'll be taking a trip to the United States."

Seras' red eyes went wide with excitement.

"The U.S.? Really? Are we going to New York? Or Chicago? Or Washington?"

"I wouldn't know. I'm just a butler and retainer."

He began to leave, but stopped at the door.

"Please feed tonight, you need your strength."

Seras sighed and shook her head. She climbed out of her coffin-bed and set to her dinner: three bags, Type O positive. There'd been a time when her stomach churned and a little voice in the back of her mind starting screaming "NO!" when she felt the urge to feed. For a long time she refused blood, slowly weakening, remaining a semi-vampire, a dhwampyr, until the day he died. Pip Vernedead. His was the first blood she truly drank, and it was his blood that saved her life, and turned her into…something not entirely human. It was a fact that she lived with, though with some difficulty. _I do miss normal food. Cheese, mostly. _

Seras finished her meal, setting the spoon in the dish and the emptied transfusion bags in the ice bucket, and headed up to Sir Integra's office.

She found Sir Integra, Alucard, and Walter already waiting for her. Lurking behind Intregra's desk was a small Asian man that Seras had never seen before.

"Finally," Sir Integra sighed, "We can begin. Alucard, Miss Victoria, I have a mission for you two. A small group of Roman Catholic vampire hunters, The Sacred Order of the Knights of St. Michael, is a non-Vatican-affiliated group that existed alongside Iscariot since the Middle Ages. It was formed, in large part, as a response to Iscariot's aloof nature, as well as its forbidding all but a select few laypersons. It is organized around the parish system and are usually lead by either the parish priest or the local exorcist, though decisions are made on a democratic process, and a special papal order has removed the Order from the control of the Church hierarchy and the Vatican government. Only the Pope himself has authority over its members."

"Carte blanche, just like Iscariot gave its members." Alucard growled.

"Only the Order is better at self-regulating. They have never produced anything like Fr. Anderson, and each member is answerable to the group."

"As to why I called you all here," she continued, "The Springfield chapter of the Order-"

"Which one?" Alucard asked smugly. Integra gave him a grave look.

"Crap, not _that _Springfield."

"-is headed by an Irishman name Nell O'Flaherty, a Jesuit. He sent us this encrypted e-mail. He claims that vampire attacks in Springfield, having long been sparse since they slew a local Master Vampire last year, have been growing ever more frequent and bloody in number. Also, a local historian's house was robbed, and from it an ancient diary was stolen. The diary describes a spot in the nearby hills where the local Indian tribe believe an ancient, vampire-like monster is held dormant by a magic spell. Fr. O'Flaherty believes that this creature is no myth, but the First, the Master, the original vampire himself."

"The good vicar is certain that the local coven of vampires and their human followers plan to attempt a ritual to resurrect this ancient monstrosity. The vicar's group, though well equipped and consiting of a few particularly skilled individuals, is nonetheless small, about one twentieth of the number of our troops, not counting those we station throughout the United Kingdom for quick-response. It is likely that they are greatly outgunned and outnumbered, and that any attempt to prevent the vampires from reaching the vampire's grave would be utterly suicidal."

"In addition to this crisis in Springfield, it has also come to our attention that, in the woods of the state of New York, in the United States, that there is a coven of vampires that has been in operation since the eighteenth century. While they have done there best to remain unnoticed for the past centuries, in the last three years one of their number has taken to exceptionally high-profile kills that have managed to result in federal investigation by the FBI's X-files division. You'll be working alongside two of their best agents, Fox Mulder, and Dana Scully. They're veterans of the Midian hunt, and friends of the Springfield Order. Now, normally I would not agree to send my two best field agents across the pond for a mission like that, but as you'll be stateside for the Springfield assignment, and as the FBI X division is an old ally of ours and is terribly short on men at this time, I'll deem it worthy of your involvement."

Sir Integra paused, and put out her cigar. Walter held out and open case for her, and she selected one, sniffing it carefully, and then lit it. Oral fixation once again satisfied, she continued.

"You two will depart at once. You will take a flight to the Newark Airport, where the two FBI agents will meet you. Don't worry, I've already taken the liberty of having coffins sent with armed escort to the states. They'll be under the protection of the FBI. After that, you'll travel with them to Springfield. If you don't find the vicar in his home, then head to the Springfield mountains with all haste. For additional support, I'm having a Royal Navy aircraft carrier bring four Hellsing helicopters and three dozen of our special operations troops."

Integra took her cigar in her hand, looking it over.

"Oh yes, this is Akira Nagata, the messenger from Springfield. He too will be traveling with you."

She snuffed out her cigar in the ash tray. She stood, and Akira, taking it as a cue, walked around the desk to stand next to Alucard, who studied him supersiliously.

"God and Her Majesty's blessings go with you. Amen."


	4. Time

Time

Note: This chapter is a bit of a songfic, but lies continues the storyline. The song, of course, is "Time" by Pink Floyd, from their album "The Dark Side of the Moon".

(Song begins. Chimes, alarm bells)

Patty and Selma rise from their matching beds, grumbling. They turn off their identical alarm clocks and go to the restroom and brush their teeth.

The two, now dressed, walk by the dining room table. Ling sits eating her breakfast cereal. Selma stops and kisses her lovingly on the cheek, while Patty lights a cigarette.

(Rising movement, drums)

Patty and Selma drive to the DMV. Inside, we see the lines slowly move, Patty and Selma stamping their forms and smoking their cigarettes. The clock ticks on the wall. The sun rises in the sky, peaks, then begins to fall.

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day  
You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way  
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town  
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way"

Underground, pale, skeletal creatures slowly climb up craggy black rocks, slowly moving upwards.

"Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain  
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today  
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you  
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun"

(guitars)

Patty and Selma are once more at home. Selma sits on the couch, watching MacGuyver with Ling, while Patty stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom, wearing a black pantsuit, applying her makeup. Patty takes her purse and leaves. Selma makes a sad face.

Patty and her lesbian friends are at a bar. A tall, brown-haired woman in a pink dress walks in through the door. Patty gets up and goes over to her. One of her friends makes a hurt face, while the others begin to talk amongst themselves.

"You run and you run to catch up with the sun, but its sinking,"

We see Patty following the woman through the door of a large house. The sun is setting on the horizon. Patty enters, and the woman closes the door behind them. A third woman is waiting inside.

"-Racing around to come up behind you again!"

The third woman turns into a vampire Patty screams, turns, trying to flee, but is grabbed by the woman in pink.

"The sun is the same in the relative way, but you're older  
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death."

Patty, unconscious, hangs by her shackled wrists. She opens her eyes, and sees that she is in a room filled with black robed people. At the end of the room are the two women from earlier. One holds a knife in one hand, and a screaming infant dangling by one ankle.

"Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time  
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines  
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way  
The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say."

Patty starts to cry.

(music slows)

We see Selma, alone at the DMV. The day passes, Selma drives home, and staggers in the door. Ling greets her with a hug.

"Home, home again  
I like to be here when I can  
And when I come home cold and tired  
Its good to warm my bones beside the fire-"

We see St. Jerome's Church. The church is dark inside, but light emnates from within, illuminating the stained glass windows. Inside, we see the Order all kneeling, while Fr. O'Flaherty says the High Mass.

"Far away across the field  
The tolling of the iron bell  
Calls the faithful to their knees  
To hear the softly spoken magic spells."


	5. Newark and New York

Newark and New York

Seras slept on the plane, a blanket over her head. She could feel the hot sun on the other side of the thin fabric. She envied Alucard, sitting smugly in his chair, watching _Underworld_ on a portable DVD player, and Akira, who sat in the row ahead of her and Alucard, talking with a group of his fellow Japanese-businessmen on their way back to Tokyo.

Seras slept. She saw woods. Trees and moonlight. Orange firelight, shrieking voices. A pale, hideous humanoid, skinny, troglodytal, dripping with mucous, being raised out of a hole.

"Wake up, police girl. We've arrived."

Seras sat up, the blanket falling from her face. The plane had landed, and they were in New Jersey. It was night, the sky dark with roiling black clouds. Lightning flashed over the city.

"It's a wild night out. I thrill on such nights."

They deplaned and sojourned through the crowded terminal. At the baggage carousel, after they picked up their luggage, two strangers approached them. One was a man, tall, brown haired and dark-eyed, with a long face and smug grin. The other was a woman, a striking redhead with luscious red lips and sharp, intelligent eyes. Both were well dressed, and the man carried a piece of cardboard with the name "Genya Arikado" written on it.

"You must be Mister…Arikado," the man said in a drawling voice. Alucard grinned, one of his vampiric fangs showing.

"Good to see you, Agent Mulder. Agent Sculley."

"Alucard…the immortal vampire," the woman named Sculley said, her voice sounding half-doubtful, half-intrigued.

"And I take it you're the poor little police girl, Seras Victoria."

"Yes, ma'am," Seras said with some nervousness. She felt uncomfortable standing in such a public place with Alucard, talking to two FBI agents.

"Our car's out front," Mulder interjected. "We'd better get going."

"What about the police girl and my coffins?"

"Two of each reached here from England this afternoon. I put one of each in my apartment, the other two are in the FBI headquarters basement," Mulder answered.

Sculley noticed Akira standing silently behind them.

"He's with us. A friend of our mutual acquaintance Father Nell from Springfield."

"Oh yeah, America's scrod bucket."

The drive was a long one. The deluvian weather made Seras anxious, though being united with her Hallconen was somewhat comforting. Alucard, too, seemed happy to have his twin guns.

"So, how was you're guys' flight?"

"Oh, miserable."

"I enjoyed myself some. I finally got to watch _Underworld_."

"Oh yeah? How'd you like it?" Mulder asked, trying to look at Alucard in the rearview mirror, only to realize that he cast no reflection. "Probably didn't like all the inaccuracies."

"Yes. Humans always love to reduce things they can't comprehend down to something scientific. Regardless, I found that Kate Beckinsdale quite lovely for a human. She'd make a nice real Vampyr herself…though I doubt she's still a virgin."

Mulder grinned, but stopped when he saw Sculley's reproachful look.

"But what frightened me was how close they came to being right about the elders. Covens often restrict all but one elder to blood deprivation hibernation, to prevent in fighting. Every century, they send one to sleep, awaken another with his blood, and he gains all the predecessor's memories. It's a way of concentrating the wisdom of the clan."

Seras froze, a sudden memory coming to her. Alucard

"_The blood is the life_…"

Seras was in the Hellsing dungeons, sitting in her coffin. Alucard stood in the doorway in his red coat, broad brimmed hat, and reflective glasses. He leered at her over the top of his glasses, his red eyes smoldering.

"_We drink blood, or we die. The vampire is immortal, but only if he drinks._"

_What is it with blood…?_ Seras wondered, but could never understand.

The storm was still raging when they reached the vampire compound deep in the woods. In darkness, Mulder and Sculley could see an enormous mansion, with several smaller outbuildings, surrounded by a ten foot high brick wall. A single wrought iron gate was the only entrance, and the two vampires in the car could see that two men, vampires armed with carbines and accompanied by Doberman pinschers stood guarding the gate.

"That's the only way in?" Mulder asked.

Alucard nodded. "Yes."

They got out of the car. Mulder opened the trunk, and he and Sculley took off their overcoats and donned bulletproof jackets. Four Heckler and Koch MP-5 carbines hung from a special rack in the trunk. Sculley took one, and handed another to Mulder. She removed the next two and held them out at the two vampires. Alucard shook his head, gravely. Seras shrugged and took one. Mulder handed her two extra clips.

"Let's see," he said, leaning into the trunk. He struggled with something heavy within the trunk. Seras walked over and pulled the object out with one hand: her satchel of 30mm Hallconen rounds.

"Jeez!" Sculley gasped. "How much does that weigh?"

"40 kilos."

"What's that add up to?" Mulder asked.

" 'Bout eighty pounds, Mulder."

"How many vampires are we up against?" Seras asked as she fussed with the various shoulder straps of her Hallconen cannon, MP-5, and ammo box.

"At least 19 vampires, seven of them powerful ones, and thirty human security guards.

"So," Alucard said, cocking his .454 Casull with his teeth, "How are we gonna' do this? Our objective is to kill every UnDead freak inside those walls-whoever stands in our way will be killed as if they were vampires themselves! I don't care if your FBI worries about human casualties. My mission is to search and destroy."

The two humans were silent, horrified by the vampire's ferocity. Finally, Mulder cleared his throat and said,

"Well…well, then, tactically speaking, I suppose that the…if…the human guards are all armed, that they should be…"

"Our primary objective?" Seras chimed.

"Yeah, yeah. That."

Alucard took off his glasses and stared at the compound, his eyes glazing over.

"Police girl…"

"Master?"

"All but six of the human security guards are in or next to their bunkhouse. One shot from your Hallconen should be able to wipe out the should be able to wipe them all out. Another shot to destroy the gate, and then the humans can drive up to the door."

"Wait!" Sculley gasped, "What are you-" But Seras was already aiming her enormous rifle.

"Get in the car, Dana. These guys are pros"

Seras fired. The shot arched high into the night sky, then came down like a falling star. The explosive round struck the outbuilding, went right through the roof and second storey, then exploded, shattering every window, blasting the doors off their hinges, and tossing everyone inside like ragdolls. The explosion ruptured the propane lines, and the incendiary burst ignited the gas, incinerating the house and its inhabitants. Before the guards at the gate could begin to race over to the blazing building, or investigate the car the source of the deadly round, Seras had fired a second shot, directed right at the gate. The explosion threw the guards in the air before enveloping them in flame; by the time they reached the ground, they had been roasted alive. The gates had been destroyed. Mulder revved the engine and raced into the courtyard.

"These two are fairly competent," Alucard purred in his low, smooth voice. "Come on, Police Girl, let's not let them have all the fun."

Seras shouldered her canon and readied her MP-5.

Alucard drew his two pistols: a custom .454 Casull semi-automatic, and his special 13mm "Jackal".

"Control Art Restriction: release to Level 3…"

He vanished disappeared in a vortex of shadow. Seras bit her lip, then ran for the wall. She jumped, leaping over straight over it, and landing in the courtyard. She saw Mulder and Sculley's car racing up the drive ahead of her.

Inside the mansion, the coven had been brought out of their blood-drenched revelry by the sound of the first explosion. Karras, the acting leader, walked over to the windows and peeked through the curtains. The gates burst into flames and dissolved. The red firelight faded, and two brilliant white headlights shone through. He saw the black sedan speeding forward.

"We're under attack!" he roared. He began to turn. He noticed an eerie silence from his comrades. As he finished his turn, he found himself staring down the barrel on a pistol. He saw a tall, dark-haired man in a red trench coat and broad-rimmed hat on the other end.

"Yeah," Alucard laughed. He fired, the bullet striking just above the vampire's right eye, and exploding out the other side in a shower of gore. The vampire dropped to his knees, blood spurting onto the black curtains. As he listed to the right, the bleeding stopped, his skin began to blacken, and he crumbled into ash.

One of the vampiresses screamed. Alucard looked over his shoulder, leering.

"Who wants some?"

The vampires snarled, eyes glowing, their demon faces manifesting. Alucard let loose a barrage of bullets, emptying his pistol, with each shot stricking its target in the heart or head. Alucard loaded a fresh clip into his Casull. _Fourteen vampires dead…about ten more escaped._

Mulder and Sculley's car burst through the front doors. Mulder and Sulley climbed out, carbines at the ready.

"About time. Traffic slow you down?"

"Ha."

The door on the side wall across from Alucard burst open, and several vampires sporting various forms of firearms raced out. Something dark burst through the window, plowing into their ranks. It was Seras. She stood, and let loose a clip-emptying stream from her MP. The vampires screamed and crumbled into ash.

More were coming down the staircase. Mulder and Sculley began firing-short, controlled bursts, as they were trained to do. A few were hit and fell, rolling down a few stairs before crumbling into ash. A few were stronger and faster, and leapt into the air, flying down towards the two agents. Mulder dodged to the side and flipped his MP into full automatic, and let loose a blast, killing one and catching another in the legs, causing him to list to the side and crash into the wall. Sculley was caught by one, and was knocked back against the hood on the car. Alucard shot it through the neck, tossing it to the ground, where Mulder sprayed the remainder of his clip into it.

They continued through the mansion. Few vampires remained, and most were simply cowering in fright. Alucard let the others dispatch them.

_Pitiful…these things are hardly worthy of claiming to be UnDead. Why do they lie down and let us kill them like sick dogs? Have they no pride? No sense of duty to their race? No…they are vermin. _

They found three stone sarcophagi in the basement of the mansion. Alucard shoved the lids to the ground, revealing the coffins' contents: dormant Master vampires. They had slipped into a state of suspended animation from blood deprivation, and hung in limbo, awaiting the taste of blood. Mulder ran off to the car, and returned some time later with six gallon jugs of holy water. Mulder and Sculley drove stakes through all three vampires' hearts, then cut off their heads and shot each right between the eyes. They dissolved with holy water as much of each corpse as they could. After that, they doused them with petrol and set them aflame. Alucard replaced the lids, and left. The others spilled gasoline throughout the entire house and turned on all the gas ranges in the kitchen. They ran to a safe distance from the house, and then Mulder fired a flare round into the broken windows. The house exploded into flames.

A helicopter picked the four up within an hour. Alucard looked tired and bored.

"Master…?"

"I hope they manage to wake up the First. I'd be disappointed if this was the best American vampires had to offer."


	6. Family

And Shine Heaven Now

Family

Selma slept silently-dead but dreaming. Her slumber was deep and desperate, that of a tired body lapsing as close to death as possible. She was pulled slowly from her sleep by the constant chiming of the doorbell. With a grunt and a weary grumble she rolled out of bed and pulled her robe over her shoulders. She shuffled through the apartment and stopped at the door to peer through the peephole. _Marge…_ She turned the deadbolt and unlocked the door.

"Hiya Marge," she yawned, scratching the back of her head groggily.

"Hi, Patty," Marge said with a nervous grin, "I know it's kind of early-"

"No kiddin'."

"-but Homer has to go out of town for work, and he didn't tell me in time, so I wasn't able to cancel my appointment, so…" she paused, and pulled Maggie and Eric in front of her self, "Would you mind watching Maggie and Eric for a day or so?"

"Sure, whatever," she mumbled. Selma yawned and smacked her lips. She blinked slowly, and when she opened her eyes, she saw a third child, a brown-haired boy, standing next to her niece and nephew.

"Who's this?"

"Oh, this is Maggie's friend. You wouldn't mind letting him stay too, would you?"

"They're not boyfriend and girlfriend, right?"

Maggie and Gino looked at each other, Maggie in disgust, and Gino in intrigue.

"No!" she screamed.

"Non," he sighed.

"No, no, no!" They're just friends! Purely platonic, like Benson and Stabler, or Mulder

and Sculley before the show jumped the shark!"

"Hrmmm…fine, come on in kids."

Selma staggered over to the couch and plopped down. She groped for her cigarettes and lighter, and lit her first cigarette of the day. She took a long draw, then brushed her back with her free hand.

"So, sis, how's life goin'?"

"Oh, not too bad," Marge lied. "I love what you've done with the apartment.

So…nice…yeah."

"Hrm. How're Bart and Lisa? Bart beat that obscenity charge?"

"Well, no, but he cut a plea bargain with them and turned in Krusty for something he said on the air a few years ago," Marge answered.

_Three years earlier…_

"Hey Hey, kids! Huhehahahaha! cough, hack, wheeze! Hey, Mel, you know what time it is?"

Mel shook his head, making a descending sound on his slide whistle.

"Its time for…name game!"

The kids in audience cheered.

Krusty swaggered over to the front row.

"Hey, kid! What's your name? Huhehahahaheh!"

"Billy."

"BILLY! Billy, Willy, bo Billy, banana fana fo Filly, fee fi mo, milly, BILLY!"

"YAAAAY!"

Krusty went up to another child in the audience, who, by chance, happened to be Maggie.

"And what's your name, kiddo?"

"Duck."

"Duck? What the-whoa! Your parents sure picked one farkakte name, kid. Ma must have

come up with that one while still on painkillers from havin' ya! Anyways, here-we-go! Duck, duck, bo buck, banana fana fo fuck-"

The audience gasped in unison. Grave silence followed.

"Wha-? Oh…!"

_Back in the present…_

"How's Ling doing? She's out of school already, right?"

"Yeah. She's finally taking it easy, poor kid. Works like a maniac at her schoolwork."

"Did her grades come back?"

"Same as always, straight 'A's. You, know, she qualified for a place at Springfield Magnet School, but there's no way I could afford it."

"Aw, that's too bad. Couldn't you get a scholarship?"

"Naw. Besides, she likes going to school with her cousins. She says that sharing a class with Maggie makes her want to do better."

Marge murmured nervously.

"So, who's this kid Maggie brought with her? He's not from school."

Marge looked off to the side nervously, pretending not to have heard wile she formulated a response.

"Hey! Marge?"

"Oh, uh, he's over on, um…he's one of Fat Tony's nephews, over from…Italy."

"Oh. Thought he looked familiar."

Selma pondered for a moment…_He looks Italian, but that's not what looked familiar. His face, his eyes, his hair…they're just like…whose? _

In Ling's bedroom, Maggie had already started making herself comfortable, shoving Ling's things out of the way, unpacking her bags, and setting up her cot. Ling opened one eye, the other, and blinked until her vision focused. She reached over to the bedside table and got her glasses.

"Maggie?"

"Hey Ling."

"What're you doing here?"

"…uh, my parent have to go outta town for something, so me an' Eric are camping out

for a while."

Ling looked at her alarm clock. _Four thirty in the morning._

"I'm gonna go back to sleep, Mags. Okay?"

"Sure, no problem. I'll just watch TV and do crunches till breakfast. Pleasant dreams!"

Ling slumped back into bed.

In the living room, Selma handed Marge a mug of coffee and sat down, holding her own coffee under her nose, letting the warm steam waft up her nose. Selma looked over to her neice, Maggie, who was doing sit-ups and watching "El Hombre Bumblebee" on low volume. Even with the sound down, she could still hear the man's pained screams.

"Ay! No es bueno!" he screamed.

"How's Patty doing these days?" Marge inquired, "She isn't here, is she?"

"No. She went out with some friends the night before last, and hasn't come back yet."

Marge gasped.

"Oh dear! I hope she's alright!"

Selma snorted. "She's fine. She's been spending the night with a girlfriend of hers. I'm more worried about her loosing her job. Still, twenty-five plus years at the DMV, she could retire if she wanted, but then who'd I have to talk to all day?"

Marge shrugged and sipped her coffee. She noticed her watch, and nearly spilled her coffee.

"Oh, look at the time! I gotta run, sis! Kisskiss! Bye Maggie, you behave yourself for Aunt Selma. I love you, my little baby girl!"

"Mom!" Maggie whined as her mom pulled her into a rib-crushing hug.

"Say good-bye to Eric for me. Tell him that if anything happens, Lisa will take care of you two."

"Mom…you're going to see your allergist."

"Right, right. Bye, honey."

Marge sped back to her home. She saw Otto's bus parked in front, and most of the group was already seated, their supplies loaded in the luggage compartments.

She had not told her two youngest children or her sister, but she was not going to her allergist in Tarzana. Fr. O'Flaherty had decided, on the advice of Mr. Skinner and Sideshow Bob, to send a small force into the mountains to intercept the vampire cultists and prevent their resurrection of the first vampire. The group consisted of Marge, Homer, Bart, Brian, Nelson, Jimbo, Dolph, Seamus, Francesca, and Bob, and was to be lead by Skinner.

"Come on, Marge, we gotta hurry!" Homer whined shrilly, prancing on the spot in nervous anticipation.

"I know, I'm coming," she said as she got out of her car and locked the door. "The house is locked, right?"

"Yes," Lisa answered. "I'll be taking care of the animals while you're gone."

"Alright, now where's my gun?"

"It's the Kalashnikov rip-off, right?" Francesca asked.

"Yes…" Marge answered, her voice betraying her shame at someone having noticed that her rifle was not a genuine AK.

"I's in the storage compart-a-ments," Francesca said, as she hefted her and her husband's duffel bags. Bob took his from his wife with a peck on the cheek.

"Are we all ready to go?"

"Let's hurry then."

The task force finished loading their things, then gathered out on the front lawn. The sky was pink with pre-dawn light, and the air had the crispness of a summer morning, when the air, though cool, hints of the impending heat.

Fr. O'Flaherty strode out from the back yard accompanied by Fr. Sean, both wearing their full priestly garb. Fr. Sean carried a holy water sprinkler and censer.

"In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

"Amen."

"Almighty God, we ask ye grant yer blessings upon these brave men and women, departing now to do battle with the earthly manifestations of evil. Lacking time to confess their sins, we ask you grant them absolution, lest they die in a state of sin, provided they are truly penitent and swear to seek true absolution in the Sacrament of Penance as soon as they possibly can. Amen."

"Amen."

The two priests walked along, the group. Fr. O'Flaherty sprinkled them with holy water, while Fr. Sean swung the censer, the strong smoke strong in the clean morning air. The hunters crossed themselves as the water hit them. Brian, eyes shut tight in prayer, crossed himself three times, then bit his thumb in nervousness. Bart nudged him lightly with the butt of his AR.

"Come on, Bri. It's go time."

While the rest of the team climbed onto the bus, Brian ran over to Lisa.

"Lisa…"

"Brian."

"Look, I know…between us…its been difficult. But I-"

"Brian! Fall in!"

"Look, if I don't come back…I just don't want to have died never saying-"

"Callahan!" Skinner yelled, having entered his "Sergeant Skinner" mode, "Get your butt on this bus A-sap!"

"I love you!" Brian blurted out. He stood, stunned at his own words, trying to read the expression on Lisa's face. _Is that fear? Disgust? Anger? Sadness? Joy? Understanding? Did she know all along? Does she feel the same?_ He had no time to wait for her answer. He ran off and boarded the bus, leaving Lisa in stunned and conflicted.

As the bus pulled away, Millhouse approached Lisa.

"Hey, Lisa, you didn't answer. That's a no, right?"

"No."

"So you do love him?"

"I don't know."

Millhouse clenched his fist, then, realizing another angle, smiled and asked.

"If he dies, am I your next choice?"

"Ew! No!"

_Spinster City Apartments…_

Selma piled the final batch of pancakes one on top of the other, then flipped the stack onto a plate and set it in front of Gino.

"Thank you, Miss Bouvier."

"Your welcome, Genie."

"Gino."

"Gino, yeah, groovy. So kids, what're you up for today? I have to work 'til five, so how about you go to a movie down tat the Googoplex? Or…the park, or something? Gino, you're new here, right? Why not have the kids show ya around? Eric's one helluva tour guide, right Eric?"

"Kinda."

"See?"

"I'd love to, Miss Bouvier," he said, grinning. He looked at Ling, "You are coming too, yes?"

"Hey, it beats sitting around waiting for someone to post a comment on my Myspace all day."

"Yeah, that's the spirit," Selma said, setting down her mug, "Well, I gotta hurry or I'll end up with Patty on the unemployment line."

"Mom," Ling asked.

"Yeah, sweetie?"

"When's Aunt Patty coming home?"

Selma frowned.

"Soon, honey. I mean, she can't stay at her friend's house forever. She didn't bring enough clothes."

She kissed her on the top of her head.

"Bye, sweetie."

"Bye, mom."

"Bye kids! Have fun, don't incur any warrants!"

"Bye, Aunt Selma!"

"Bye, Aunt Selma!"

Selma left.

"So," Gino asked Ling, leaning towards her over the table, "What's there, uh, fun to do in this town? You, blue-hair, you know the way around town, right? What're the sights?"

"Well, there's the Town Hall, the Statue of Jedediah Spingfield, the Springfield Natural History Museum-"

Maggie stood up, her action silencing her shy younger brother.

"Ah, he doesn't know nothin'. Come on, Mario, I'll show you around."

The kids put on their shoes, and Maggie grabbed her-formerly Bart's-skateboard.

"First we'll hit the skate park. It's still too early for the narcs to be hangin' around, but late enough for the real freaks to be locked away in summer school. Then we can go to Noiseland, largest selection of shooting and/or disembowlment-centered videogames this side of Jimbo Jones' house-who, by the way, still has the high score on Space Invaders."

"Ew, skatepark, come one, Mags!"

"Fine, Ling, what do _you _want to do? 'Cause we're still goin' to Noiseland! I bribed that pimply-faced kid to pause "Area 51" last night-if I keep up game up for the last level, I'll beat the high score with a 100 accuracy."

"I was thinking…maybe the library?"

Maggie pondered her suggestion for a while, then, to the surprise of all, answered,

"Eh, why not."

Eric and Ling stared in amazement.

"What? The computers are an excellent place to hack."

"Don't they know who's on? I mean, you need the number off of your library card to log on."

"Correction," she replied, holding up a library card with the name 'Gerald "Unibrow" Underwood', "_A _library card."


	7. Running Late

Running Late

They reached the casino by midday. The sight that greeted them was horrific.

The parking lot looked like a battlefield. Smoldering wrecks of vehicles bled black smoke into the clear blue sky. Charred, dismembered corpses littered the asphalt.

"Dear God…" Bob whispered.

Skinner was silent. He'd seen this all before, decades earlier: Da Nang, Guadaming, Hill 117. The fear and revulsion were silent know, just like the memories; they were another series of nightmares that would go untold, unspoken, corralled in his mind for eternity.

They exited the bus guns drawn, advancing slowly, quietly.

"Be on the look out. Watch, and listen. It's daylight, so we'll most likely be facing only ghouls and armed humans."

They edged nearer and nearer to the casino. Skinner noticed that, as they approached the building, the number of corpses bearing head wounds increased.

_Headshots…judging from the angle they fell, they were shot from the casino._

A shot rang out, making the hunters drop to the ground. The window in a nearby car shattered. Sean returned fire with his rifle.

"Hold your fire!" Skinner barked. Another shot was fired. A hole appeared in a car door inches from Bart's head.

"Wait!" someone yelled.

Skinner saw several small figures moving on top of the casino. Setting down his rifle, he stood up and waved his hands over his head. One of the people on top of the building waved his arms, then yelled, "_We'll be right down!_"

A small band of men and women armed with a mix of hunting rifles and farming implements emerged from the casino a few minutes later. Leading the group was a tall Indian, with a strong, proud face and long hair that, once black, had become a slate grey.

"Hello. I'm Marshall "Soaring Eagle" Dietrich. These are my two sons, my cousin, and the remaining survivors from the casino and the reservation."

"I'm Sergeant Seymour Skinner, leader of the Order of the Knights of St. Michael's Anti-Freak task force. Would you uh, mind informing us as to what happened here?"

The Indian looked at Skinner suspiciously, then spoke.

"Last night, after dark, a bus arrived, filled with strange creatures."

"Senior citizens?" Bart asked.

The old man made no sign that he had heard Bart's joke.

"They came into the casino and killed everyone they saw. They bit them and tore their throats like animals. They lapped up the puddles of blood like wolves."

"They came looking for one of the reservation elders. They found him in his garden with his grandchildren. They asked him about some old legend, then killed his family in front of him, then killed him. I know this only because my cousin lived next door to him, and she managed to escape. Her husband and children were all killed as well."

Brian looked at the young woman the Chief had indicated was his cousin. She was a tall, strong woman, with the look of one who's had to survive many hardships and never take time to weep over them.

Bob stepped out from the group.

"Perchance, was the story that of the Vampire Man?"

"Yes," she answered quietly.

"Why does that matter?" Her cousin asked, his voice bearing a touch of rage.

"Because, the story is true, and those monsters that came here were looking to resurrect him."

The survivors were quiet for a few moments. Scattered murmurs and half-conversations followed.

"What are you saying?"

"The Vampire Man is the First Vampire, and, in bringing him back to life, they seek to bring upon mankind a new era of darkness."

Skinner cleared his throat, then asked the young woman, "Did he tell the strangers where they could find the grave of the Vampire Man?"

All eyes turned towards her.

"He did."

"Then we've no time to lose. Do you know the gravesite's location?"

"Flat Top Rock, about thirty miles from here." She looked at the yellow bus still idling in the parking lot. "You won't be able to take that. The others, the monsters, they took their bus, up on the mountain roads to the campsite near the mountain top. But there's a trail through the woods you can take to get there sooner."

"Cora…"

"Marshall, I can lead them. They won't know where to go without help."

She looked to Skinner.

"On horseback, on this trail, there's a chance you can reach the mountain before they do. We brought all the horses they didn't kill inside the casino. Come on, let's saddle up."

She turned and walked off. The hunters followed her. As Bart walked past him, the Chief threw out his arm to stop him.

"I remember you. The kid who tried to sneak into my casino 'bout ten years ago."

"Yup."

"Take this."

He handed Bart a small tomahawk.

"Stainless steel, rubberized handled U.S. Army tomahawk. Should prove useful to you."

"Thanks, man."

Skinner walked talked to the Chief while the others went over to the casino.

"Take our bus back to town. Tell the police what happened, or as much as they'll believe."

"Thank you."

Skinner saluted him, and the Chief returned his salute.

"Army, Vietnam, 1970-1973."

"You were in Nam too, eh? Well, when this mess is over I'd like to swap war stories over a glass of Duff at the tavern."

"Sure thing. Alright, let's get out of here!"


	8. Gott Mitt Uns

_I went over the chapter, corrected a few typos (probably missed some), and added some more action for length and atmosphere, as well as to clarify what happened.-Fionn_

Gott Mitt Uns

Cora, the Chief's cousin, led the hunters through the woods along a narrow, overgrown path.

Brian felt no unease at the forest's edge, nor was he worried for the first few miles, but, as they advanced through the undergrowth, and the trees grew taller, darker, older, he felt a strange, suffocating grasp.

"There's something not right in these woods."

Cora nodded.

"The animals aren't acting normal."

Bart saw a deer frantically digging a hole in the ground. It jumped in, then pulled the dirt in over itself. A chipmunk was pilling the eggs from a sparrow's nest in its cache in the side of a tree. When the mother sparrow returned and began squawking her objection, the chipmunk grabbed her, threw her in with the eggs, sealed her in with a piece of bark, and jumped off the tree branch, screaming.

"Something's making them nervous."

Sideshow Bob frowned.

"There is an evil in these woods," he intoned, "Some dark power is at work here."

They rode on for several hours. They neither saw nor heard any animals-the woods were surreally silent, the forest in an ancestral dream. The pale green light filtering through the leaves gave little comfort.

In the late afternoon, just as they had reached the base of the mountain and had begun to struggle up its steep, sloping side, a strange sound was heard, that broke the hours-long silence.

A low, guttural groaning, both pained and aggressive, came from the overgrowth, making the group halt. They waited, silent save for the jingling of harness and restless stomping of hooves as the moans grew nearer. Bob set his hand on his pistol. The horses grew more anxious, snorting and stomping. The sound was even nearer, and closing. Francesca's horse reared, throwing Francesca to the ground and causing the other horses to jump and amble around, whinnying with fright.

Cora dismounted and ran to Francesca's horse, grabbing its reins and trying desperately to calm it while Bob helped his wife.

"Are you hurt, cara mia?"

"I'm fine, Roberto."

Cora calmed the horse, stroking its nose and cooing soothingly.

"There there, girl, it's alright. What's wrong?"

Bob drew his pistol, and held his finger to his lips, asking to silence. Bart was going to ask why he had drawn his gun when, in the silence, he noticed that the groaning had ceased.

A figure leapt from bushes. Cora gasped.

"Stan?"

The figure turned out to be a plump, middle-aged man in a security guard uniform. His skin was a sickly grey, his eyes dim, and his mouth agape. He turned slowly, his eyes continually staring forward, until he was looking straight at Cora. His jaw dropped even lower, almost reaching his chest, while he stretched his arms out, hands clenching and unclenching, and, from the depths of his chest, he unleashed a hideous, rasping shriek. Bob pulled the trigger, and a single 10mm hole appeared on the man's temple. He collapsed to the ground, then, before Cora scream could escape her mouth, the man's body crumbled into dust.

Cora screamed, but was quickly silenced by Marge's hand.

"It's alright! Shh! Hush! You'll bring more of them!"

"What-was-that! What was that! It looked like-! Like!"

"Like someone you knew." Bob said, walking over to the pile of ash and bones and picking up the man's nametag.

"'Stan', was it? That thing used to be Stan, but wasn't anymore shot him. It was a ghoul, a blood slave of a vampire. You probably saw some of the people killed at the casino come back to life? The victims of a vampire do not always become vampires. Those under the age of seven invariably die, while those over the age of seven who are not virgins almost always become ghouls. They are corpses animated by the vampire's evil, completely controlled by its will. They can only be destroyed by destroying their head, destroying their heart, or total incineration."

He dropped the nametag onto the pile of ashes.

"We should hurry. It will soon be dark. If you thought one ghoul was frightening, then you certainly don't want to see the vampire that made it."

They rode hard up the hill, their horses straining to carry their riders and cargo against the pull of gravity. The sun was getting lower in the horizon, so they urged they urged the horses on even faster.

"We're not going to make it," Skinner said.

"I know. Any suggestions, Sergeant? You are the official leader of this outfit, after all."

"Hmm…we'd best dismount and carry on foot. The horses will only help us get there slightly faster as is, and if the previous encounter was any indication, the horses would be a definite disadvantage if we encountered any…freaks."

Brian bit his lip and exhaled sharply.

…_I have a bad feeling about this._

Part II

The ravine was alight with torches that hot summer night. A ring of black robed men and women stood encircling an ancient stone carving in the mountaintop, an enormous satanic pentagram, chiseled into the stone more than two thousand years earlier. At the center stood a woman, tall and fair-skinned with long brown hair, in a long pink dress.

They had prepared that spot on the hill for an ancient ritual, with an enormous inverse cross and a ceremonial altar draped with black cloth.

"Jesus Hominum Salvator," Brian muttered.

"Faith n' begorra!" Seamus gasped.

"Robert, do you know what this is?"

Bob nodded.

"Indeed I do. A black mass. They seek to break the magic seal the shaman placed over the grave of the Master, to release him from his bimillenial slumber."

Seymour whispered over his shoulder, "Cora, you know, there's no need to stay with us. If you feel the need to-" he turned around, and saw the young woman retreating into the shadows.

"So much for Pocahontas helping us," Bart said.

"Bart! That's very un-PC!"

The woman in pink raised her arms high and called out in a deep, resonating voice,

"In _nomine magni dei nostri satanas luciferi, introibo ad altare  
dei nostri. Ad dei nostri, satanas luciferi, qui laetificat  
juventutem meam. Qui regit terram._"

"We must move quickly," Seymour said.

Sideshow Bob nudged his wife.

"How many vampires are there, love?"

She removed her electronic binoculars from her backpack, hands shaking with fear. She scanned the crowd in the ravine below.

"I count only two, Roberto."

Bob rubbed his chin contemplatively.

"Brian…"

Brian turned his head.

"You're a…hypersensitive, correct? Any…reading…on how powerful those two are?"

Brian closed his eyes briefly, then sighed and shook his head.

"All I can sense is evil. Lots of it. I can hardly handle this-"

Bart slapped him. Brian was briefly stunned.

"…thanks, I needed that."

Jimbo hit him on the head with the butt of his rifle.

"Ow!"

"Shh!"

"What the hell was that for?"

"Those were _my_ kettle chips!"

"Alright," Skinner said, "Seamus, Francesca, you two position yourselves on either side of this ravine, and start by taking out the two vamps. Headshots only. Work your way along the rest, starting with the priestess. When I fire my flare gun, the rest will go in. Don't start shooting until I give you the signal, which will be two owl-hoots. Let's move."

They crawled backwards away from the edge of the ravine, standing only once they were amongst the cover of the trees. They positioned themselves along the ravine-Marge, Homer, and Bart on the left, lead by Bob, and Jimbo, Dolph, Brian, Nelson, and Skinner taking the right.

The ritual was now well underway. The pink woman raised a silver chalice, saying,

"_Dominus inferus vobiscum  
Et cum spiritu tuo.  
Incensum istud ascendat ad te, domine inferus, et inferi gloria.  
Hosanna in profundis!_  
Behold the chalice of ecstasy! Within is the elixir of life eternal.  
This we drink and seal our bond with thee oh lord of the abyss!"

"This is the blood of the ancient Master himself.

By drinking it, we are united with him.

By spilling our own upon this ancient seal, we shall release him from his prison."

She sipped from the chalice, then, taking a strange knife-a long, sinuous blade-she drew a long, red line along her bare palm of her left hand, and let fall several drops of her own blood into the chalice. She passed both knife and chalice to nearest hooded figure standing in the circle, who did as she had done, sipping from the chalice, then adding his own blood, before passing it to the person to his right.

Bart crouched with his rifle in the shadows at the end of the ravine. He rested his forehead against the barrel of his rifle, crying silently. His father set his hand on his shoulder.

"Son, if we die, I want you to know…I'm glad you didn't grow up to be an accountant."

Bart sniffed and wiped his nose.

"Thanks dad."

"Homie," Marge sighed, shaking her head, "I may never see our children get married…or our grandchildren…"

"We will Marge. We'll survive this and we'll kick ass."

On the other side of the ravine, Skinner took a deep breath, then, putting his hand to his mouth, went "Hoohoo hoo! Hoo!"

Brian crossed himself, and pulled him holy medals out of his shirt. _The Virgin Mary…St. Michael…St. Augustine, my confirmation saint…_

Blam. A fifty caliber bullet cleft the head one of the vampires. It burst into red flames, and was reduced to ash in seconds. A second shot, a .338 LM, raced from the other side of the ravine, missing its mark but striking the vampire in the heart-still a lethal shot.

The congregants not standing in the circle began shouting. They raced over to the sides of the ravine, grabbing shotguns, rifles, knives. The cloaked figures continued to pass the blade and chalice.

The flare went up. Bart took a deep breath, and charged, screaming and firing. He was lost in a fiery blur, his ears blazing with pain from the deafening roar of gunfire. He saw someone in front of him-_Friend…not friend-_he smashed him aside with his rifle. _Keep going, keep running, keep shooting_. His rifle was empty. He threw it aside and drew his .44 magnum. He fired madly, the force of the pistol making his hands fly frighteningly close to his face with each shot. He had no sense of the others, or how the battle was going, or if he was even hitting anything with his shaky hands and overpowered handgun.

Something struck him hard in the face. The blurriness faded. He saw a man standing in front of him, holding his fists up. Bart pointed and fired. Nothing. He moved to holster his pistol. The man swung again. Bart caught the man's punch in his left hand, swinging with his right. The man caught his punch, then grabbed at Bart's face. Bart reached for his belt, pulling out his bowie knife, and slashed the man across the stomach. The man let go, and staggered away, then collapsed. Bart sighed with relief.

Brian popped a fresh clip into his AR. Jaw clenched, he pulled the trigger, unleashing a stream of bullets. He watched with insane joy as his target twitched like an epileptic marionette as his bullets ripped him to shreds. He laughed. The mad rat-a-tat died. He threw aside his rifle and drew his .45 and his katana. He charged, shouting and firing. He saw bullets breezing past him, felt hot streaks of pain, heard shouting and gunfire. He was a berserker, numb to all fear and weakness.

"Brian! Take cover you fool," Skinner yelled from behind a large boulder. The cultists with guns were moving in and organizing their ranks. Nelson, Jimbo, and Dolph were hiding in a crack in the ravine wall opposite from Skinner.

"Screw this! Brian's got the right idea!"

Dolph leapt out and fired several shots with his shotgun, the shot spreading into a wall of pellets that struck the mob of cultists like an iron hailstorm. The three charged down the ravine to join Brian.

Brian flung himself at the enemy ranks, shrieking like a madman,

"_Ave Crux, Spes Unica!_"

From the edge of the ravine, Francesca continued to bring her targets down. _One shot, one kill._ She took aim at a man with an old, lever-action hunting rifle who was firing at Brian as he charged like a lunatic into the enemy ranks. Blam. _Right through the neck._ Blam. Another kill, in through the temple, out the back of the skull in a shower of grey matter and blood. Blam. Blam. Blam. Blam. _Damn, missed one_, she thought as one of her targets struggled to his feet as the great hole in his chest oozed blood. Francesca reached for another round from her bandolier. She froze, sensing something amiss. Seamus had stopped firing from his side. She heard a rustling and turned. A man in ragged clothing stood at the forest's edge, leering. In the firelight, Francesca saw that his face was red with red, and his eye gleamed yellow. Behind him, in twos and threes, advanced a veritable army of ghouls-campers, forest rangers, tourists, casino patrons, and Indians from the reservation. The man hissed and stuck out his tongue, which dropped past his chin. His face began to stretch forward horrifically. He ripped off his shirt, revealing swiftly-spreading grey fur. Francesca drew her sidearm-a modified .50 BMG carbine-and fired. The shot tore through the werewolf's hip, and he dropped to the ground in agony. The ghouls let out a shriek and, to Francesca's utter amazement, began shooting at her. She stood and did a back flip, drawing her pistols in mid-air and firing as she fell towards the ravine.

Homer pushed into the crowd. He fired his shotgun, knocking three cultists over.

"Show's over, punks!"

He smashed another in the head with the butt of his gun.

"Take that, freak! USA! USA! US-oomph!"

A man with a pitchfork had lunged at Homer. Homer barely managed to block the three sharp prongs with his gun. Homer tripped and fell over backwards. The man pressed the pitchfork against Homer's chest with one arm and drew a revolver with his free hand. Another cultist pressed the muzzle of a shotgun against his forehead. A stream of bullets cut both down. Homer sat up, and turned around. A group of men and women on horseback was coming down the ravine, firing and releasing a warbling battle cry. At the head of the formation was the Chief with an ancient Winchester repeater, with Cora riding by his side.

"She didn't duck out after all," Bart gasped.

"Woohoo! Reinforcements! Charge!"

Their hopes were crushed as ghouls, waiting on either edge of the ravine, opened fire. Horse and rider fell as the Chief tried to give orders and return fire. An enormous wolf leapt from the ledge, knocking the old man off his horse. Bart watched as the beast tore open the man's throat. More werewolves descended from the forest above, tearing riders from their horses and bringing horse and rider down together, while the ghouls began to march up both ends of the ravine, trapping the hunters.

Bart screamed an unintelligible cry and fired with his revolver. The lead werewolf, seemingly anticipating the shot, dodged, bounded off of the ravine wall, and leapt at Bart. Marge released a burst from her AK, killing it. Bart shrieked with grief and rage and fired, his high caliber shots ripping through the wolves.

Gina was pinned down by a werewolf. She pointed pistol at its head, but the wolf bit her wrist, making her drop it.

"Bastard," Bart growled as he aimed at the wolf. He pulled the trigger. _ Click!_ "Crap!"

The wolf snapped at Gina's face. She punched it square in the nose, drawing a trickle of blood from its thick snout. Gina pulled her hairclip from her head and pressed switch, releasing a tiny blade. She stabbed the wolf's throat, then, while it was still reeling in pain, picked up her pistol and pumped the beast's head full of silver. It collapsed to the side.

Bart finished reloading his revolver. He felt a tap on his shoulder, turned, and caught a brief glimpse of a wolf's open mouth, followed by a grey, furry fist. He awoke on the rocky ground. His mother was holding him in her arms.

"Wha…?"

The group had been beaten, surrounded by ghouls and werewolves and held at gunpoint.

"Holy Crap," he gasped as he struggled to his feet.

"Damn," Brian muttered. "We're in a tight spot."

The ghouls began to move and shuffle. A pale man, a vampire, stepped out from the group.

"Hmm-mmm-mmm. You should not have come here."

Skinner sighed. Bob moved his hand stealthily towards his sheathed katana. The ghouls saw, and responded by raising their rifles and growling.

"The ritual is all but complete. Soon the master of all life will be among us. And you shall be the first of the Master's victims."

He looked over his shoulder. The chalice had passed around the full circle. The lady in pink was now holding the chalice aloft, chanting airily. She lowered the chalice, setting it on the black altar.

"But…I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I tasted a few of you for him."

The vampire bared his fangs. Bob set his hand on his katana. The pink witch was walking around the circle, slicing the throats of each hooded worshipper with her ceremonial blade. The vampire's face exploded in a shower of blood and offal. His body fell to the ground. Behind where he had stood was Alucard, pointing his smoking .454 Casull.

"Looks like I got here just in time."

Brian looked up and saw a swarm of helicopters zooming overhead.

"Targets locked. Open fire."

"Aye-aye sir!"

The choppers' massive machine guns opened fire, unleashing a hail of steel bullets and bright brass casings. The projectiles fell like a killing rain, slaughtering the ritualists. Brian watched with horrified fascination as one man seemingly danced as the bullets struck him, their impact so forceful that his body lurched with each strike.

The choppers dropped rescue lines, and hunters rushed to grab on to them.

Alucard lit a cigarette, nonchalant in the storm of death.

"Police girl. Get down here and help out."

Seras leapt from one of the helicopters, landing as quietly as a cat. She loaded a round into her comically oversized rifle, and fired. The exploding incendiary round sent flaming bodies flying out of the ravine. She loaded a fresh round and turned, firing at the line of ghouls advancing down the ravine. The shot tore through half a dozen bodies before detonating, throwing the ghouls into the rocky walls.

"That'll do."

Seras looked to Alucard.

"Let's leave."

She ejected the spent round from her rifle. A part of her was sad, wanted to keep fighting, keep killing-

"Yes, master."

Both flew up to the helicopters.

Part IV: GOTT MITT UNS

The hunters collapsed in their seats, breathing sighs of relief.

Alucard walked over to Skinner.

"Tough mission, wasn't it, old soldier?"

"Thank you, vampire. You arrival was…most timely."

Alucard looked at Bob and Francesca.

"Hello, Alucard. It looks as though we are indebted to you yet again."

Alucard shrugged.

Brian rested his head on his arms. He was still holding one of his revolvers. Sensing someone beside him, he looked to his right and saw Seras.

"Are you alright, sir?"

Brian sat up. He looked at the girl's face. _Round, soft…full cheeks, petite nose…a pretty face. _He looked at her eyes. _Red._

"You're a vampire. Right? One of Hellsing's muzzled dogs."

She was clearly taken aback. Brian felt no sorrow. _Its true after all. They're wolves, kept on short leads, muzzled when not being used, but still wolves. Still, she's a young one. And before she became a dark undead she was surely a good and sweet person._

"Thank you," he said, his voice choked with dust and smoke. "You lot saved us."

She smiled faintly, then stood and walked away.

_What part of that good person remains in her? What's more…what else is in there?_

Marge sighed and rested her head on Homer's shoulder.

"Ow!"

"Sorry, Homie. Bullet?"

"Zombie bite."

"Sorry."

"Eh. At least we stopped those undead freaks from bringing back some super vampire."

They heard a faint chuckling. Homer and Marge turned around, and saw Alucard seated behind them.

"Did you _really_?"

The ravine was a bloody squall. Wounded men and women lay in the dirt, screaming and crying. Mutilated corpses were strewn all about. The few unwounded survivors mulled about, searching for their fellows and killing the wounded. They came upon the black altar, overturned and riddled with bullets. One bent over and flipped it upright, revealing the pink lady.

"Oh no…Lady Camilla? Oh please, don't be dead."

The woman stirred. She coughed and sat up.

"Lady Camilla…?"

"M'lady, they're gone."

"What of the ritual," she asked, "The sacrifice-was it-?"

"No, milady. All of them was killed by the machine guns."

She stood and looked. All the hooded men and women had been killed, their blood spilt out on the stone pentagram.

Camilla was unaware of the dark figure behind her. It began to move towards her in slow, jerky steps. The lackeys screamed and fell to the ground. Camilla spun about, and saw him.

"Master…"


	9. Even the Losers

_Spinster City Apartments…_

Selma awoke to a knock at the door. She had fallen asleep on the couch, her cigarette having dropped from her mouth and landed in her cup of coffee. She stood up and opened the door, rubbing her eyes.

"Eh?"

"Hi, we're here to pick up Maggie and Eric."

Selma blinked, trying to figure out who "we" were. A man, tall, all-American-looking, in a well-ironed suit, and a redheaded woman in a formal skirt, looking like some sort of business professional.

"I-I'm sorry, but who are you?"

"Oh, sorry, I'm Fox Mulder, and this is my…?"

"Associate," she said for him.

"_Associate_ Dana Sculley. Homer and Marge asked us to take the two kids home."

Selma had never seen these people before. There was something she found odd about them, and she sensed some deception on their part.

"Um, do you have any ID or anything? I'm sorry, but, these kids are my nephew and niece, and, you know."

"Certainly," Mulder replied, reaching into his coat. Sculley reached into her coat as well, and both flipped open their badges. Patty leaned forward, then, seeing the badges, gasped.

"Oh my gosh! This isn't about Patty is it? She isn't in any trouble, is she?"

"Ma'am, please, calm down," Sculley hushed.

"We don't know anything about your sister. Is she missing?"

"Um…yeah," Selma coughed, struggling for breath. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm down. "If it's not Patty, then it's their dad, right? Homer Simpson?"

Sculley smiled faintly and shook her head.

"Nah," Mulder laughed, "Homer hasn't broken any federal laws…recently, that is. No, we're just old friends of the family. We've known Homer since he claimed to see an UFO outside of town. And Lisa's an e-mail friend of Sculley's."

"I'm sort of her 'inside line' to the FBI."

"Ah, well, okay, um, Marge usually calls if she has someone other than Homer or the two older kids pick the two younger ones up-"

As if it had hearing her objection, the phone began to ring.

"Just a moment."

Selma answered.

"Hello?"

"Selma? This is Marge. I was going to call and tell you, two of my friends are going to pick the three kids up. Their names are Fox Mulder and Dana Sculley. They're with the FBI."

"Oh…okay. They're here right now. Bye."

She looked at the two strangers, still standing politely at the threshold. _Somethin' screwy here…_

"Well, just don't stand out there in the hall all morning! Come in."

Maggie strolled into the room in her gym clothes, towel over her shoulder.

"Hi! You must be Maggie."

"Yeah. I know you two. You're the two who run around investigating crop circles."

"Yup," Mulder said, rubbing his hands together, "And _you're_ the kid whose dad punched George Bush."

"Hey! He started it by ruining our rummage sale!"

Selma found herself strangely unnerved by her niece yelling at an FBI agent, especially when referring to her father getting into a knock-out, drag-down fight with George H.W. Bush in the city sewers.

"Anything I can get you two? Coffee? Soda, maybe?"

"No, thanks."

"Naw, we're good. So, where's Eric?"

"He's still asleep. Let, me go wake him up," Selma answered. She eyed Maggie nervously, as if to beg her to behave herself, then waddled swiftly from the room.

"So," Mulder said as he moseyed towards Maggie, hands behind his back, "Been behavin' yourself, Magsters?"

"What would make you think otherwise, officer?"

"Oh, nothing…concrete. Call it, intuition, call it a hunch…call it shutting down AOL for three days!"

Maggie scoffed.

"Who uses AOL anyways? I bet only five old people in Nebraska complained."

Mulder leaned in on Maggie, looking her straight in the eye.

"I'm on to you kid."

Eric, Gino and Ling ambled sleepily into the living room, Gino and Eric hauling their luggage behind them. Selma followed, one arm comforting the other.

Sculley smiled at the sight of Eric, one of her favorite Simpson kids.

"Hey, Eric." She was surprised by the sight of Gino. "And who's this?"

"Oh, this is Gino."

_No one mentioned him, _Sculley thought.

_I wonder why?_

"Well, Gino, hello. I'm Dana Sculley, this is Mr. Mulder. I guess you're coming with us too?

"Si, yes."

"Okay."

"Oh, and this is Ling, my daughter."

"Ling, hi."

"Well," Mulder said briskly, "Let's get a-move on. Kids, the car's out front."

The kids said their quick, still-groggy good-byes to Ling and Selma, then followed Mulder out the door. Sculley had just stepped into the hall when Selma called after her.

"I, need to ask you something…important."

Mulder looked back down the hall. Sculley waved.

"I'll be down in a minute. Yes?"

"Ms. Sculley-"

"Dana."

"My sister has been missing for three days."

"Oh…have you gone to the police?"

Selma shook her head.

"You don't know what the cops are like here. Chief Wiggum just said, 'Alright, when her corpse turns up, we'll let you know', and started pretending to write it up on an invisible typewriter. And he's the sane one! Officers Muntz, Jones, and Dolph are busy chasing aliens or ghosts or whatever, and I don't know what's wrong with the chief's son, Ralph, but he just sits around eating paste and barking!"

Sculley bit lip. She'd heard of the SPD's terrible history, but had assumed most of the stories to be just that-stories. _God. I hope the thing about them using shotguns on piñatas wasn't true._

"Well, here, let's sit down and I'll take your statements."

The went back into the apartment, and Sculley shut the door. Taking her pen and notepad from her jacket, she sat in a chair facing Selma, who had plopped down on the couch, and was patting the tears from her cheeks with a tissue.

"Now, when was the last time that you saw your sister?"

"Three nights ago. You know, not last night, not the night before last-"

"But the third, I understand. At what time?"

"Six…ish. It wasn't dark yet, but the sun was starting to get low."

"So, early evening?"

"Yes, we'd just gotten off of work."

"And where is she employed?"

"We both work at the DMV. She hasn't come in for two days. She never misses work."

Sculley, as experienced as she was, saw Selma's quick glance to the side.

"But…?"

Selma sighed. "She's been coming in late the last two months, one or two mornings a week. She's been spending the night at her girlfriend's."

Sculley scribbled down her response.

"This girlfriend of hers, would you happen to know her number or address?"

"Patty keeps her phonebook by her computer in the study. I'll go get it."

Patty stood and walked out of the room. Sculley looked around the living room.

_A little dingy, but clean and orderly. Old. This carpet looks at least twenty years old-well beyond vacuuming and steaming. _She looked at the framed photographs on the side table. _Easter Island…Egypt…Greece…Rome…pretty well-traveled for DMV employees. They look bored. The daughter's birthday-what was her name-Ling? Ling. She's a darling. State spelling bee, science fair, class president…smart girl. They must be really proud of her._

Selma returned from the study with a name and two phone numbers on a stick-it note.

"'Carrie Blythe'. Thank you."

Selma sat down. She extinguished her cigarette, already smoked down to the filter, and lit a fresh one.

"I was looking your pictures. Ling must be quite a smart girl."

"She's an angel. I swear. She could work the DVD player and the computer before she was potty trained. When she was two she used to set the child lock on the microwave just to razz us. I still haven't figured out how to do that."

"Wow. My nephew's jus the opposite. Acts just like a little animal. Gotta love him though. Now, the night she was last seen, where were she and her friends going?"

"SheShe Lounge, I think."

Sculley turned her head to the side, looking at Selma inquisitively.

"It's a lesbian bar."

"Oh yeah. I hear they still have the best margaritas in town."

"Meh."

"And, to your knowledge, did they plan to go anywhere afterwards? Dinner, maybe a movie?"

"I don't know. Patty and I are twins, you know, we share everything, except our love lives. It's just courtesy. I don't bore her with the details of my dates and whatnot, she doesn't tell me much about what she does."

Sculley nodded, jotting down each word in her sharp, neat shorthand.

"Does your sister have any enemies?"

"Enemies?"

"You know, anyone that would have any reason to hurt her. I'm just asking because it's routine."

"Nah. Not that I can think of. I mean, she's no Miss Popularity, but no one wants her dead."

"Okay. I think that's everything. Here's my card, in case something comes up. Thank you very much."

Sculley stood to leave.

"You'll find her, won't you?"

Sculley looked at Selma. _I hate it when they ask that. How can you answer a question like that?_

"I'm sure she'll be fine. She most likely will come home on her own. It happens all the time. But if we find her, you'll be the first to know."

Sculley was just about to open the door when Ling entered through it.

"Oh, excuse me."

"No, I'm sorry. Excuse me."

Down in the parking lot, the three kids were in the car, their luggage loaded in the trunk. Mulder was leaning against he driver's side door, arms crossed, staring coolly into the distance.

"Mulder!"

"Well?"

"Doesn't seem too weird, could be just an impromptu Vegas trip. At the worst, she stumbled down the stairs somewhere, broke her neck, case closed."

Sculley opened the passenger side door.

"So, no need to suspect supernatural forces, right," Mulder asked over the top of the car, grinning.

"What, sounds to cliché for me?"

"Cliché, but perfectly in character."

They arrived at the Simpson's home a few minutes later. Homer and Marge were standing by the front door, waiting, and Maggie and Eric bounded out the moment the car had stopped.

"Mom!"

"Oh, my little bitty baby girl! I'm so glad to see you!"

"Dad…where'd you get all those cuts?"

"Oh, just, um, doing a little home repairs…yeah that's the ticket…just some home repairs. Heh heh heh, children, so trusting."

"Oh, hello Dana, Mr. Mulder."

"Hello Marge," Mulder drawled, "You didn't mention Gino here. Is he staying with you?"

"No…his family is staying at the Sleep Eazy Motel downtown."

"Oh, alright. Well, see you guys later at the padre's house."

"Shhhhhuuuuutuuuup!" Homer hissed.

Maggie and Eric looked at one another, and shrugged.

Mulder and Sculley got back in the car and headed downtown.

"So," Mulder began, "Gino, what do your parents do?"

"Oh, a little of this, a little of that."

"That's hardly an answer."

"Well, you know, I don't like cops."

"We're not cops, Gino. We're FBI."

"I know. You are worse than cops."

They arrived at the dismal motel shortly.

"Which room is it?"

"213."

They walked up the cement steps and down the open corridor. Mulder counted the rooms. _209, 210, 211, 212…_

They reached the room. The opened before Mulder could knock, revealing Robert Terwilliger.

"Sideshow Bob!"

"In person."

Sculley drew her pistol, while Mulder grabbed Gino and pulled him back from the door.

"Oh, please! Don't even bother trying to arrest me!"

"Robert Underdunk Terwilliger, you're under arrest for murder, attempted murder, theft, armed robbery, and a list of crimes longer than my leg," Mulder said.

"Francesca, warning shot," Bob muttered.

A loud shot rang out, striking a stucco pillar behind Mulder's head.

"Don't think that miss wasn't deliberate. Now, we can kill each other here and now, or, we can wait until after this is over. The four of us will be a great boon to the hunters. What will it be?"

Sculley saw the glint of a rifle barrel on a nearby roof. Mulder grimaced, then released Gino.

"As soon as this is over, Bob."

Bob grinned.

"I look forward to it."

As the two agents walked away, Gino made the traditional Sicilian "Screw You!" gesture.

_KBXL…_

Bart put out his cigarette and replaced his earmuffs over his ears.

"Alright, that was "Give it Away", by Red Hot Chili Peppers. I tell you, I saw those guys live at Krustylu Studios, and-I gotta tell ya-they are incredible."

"Thank you, Bart," Jessica said, practically spitting out the name "Bart", "And now, our request list. Top of the list we have Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. So here's Tom, Stan, Howie, and all the rest in a song _clearly_ written for my co-host here."

She pressed the button to cue the song. Tom Petty's "Even the Losers" started.

"Nice one, Jess."

She made an unapologetic gesture.

Bart lit up a fresh cigarette. _Man, this song is like it was written about me. Me and Jess._ Bart thought back on his first relationship with Jessica. It was one that, despite the superficial naughtiness of their truancy, petty vandalism, and bumming smokes from older kids, was marked by childish innocence and the utter joy of living. The lyrics shocked Bart with their accurate summation of the experience.

"Well, it was nearly all summer we sat on your roof  
Yeah, we smoked cigarettes and we stared at the moon  
And Id show you stars you never could see  
Baby, it couldn't have been that easy to forget about me"

"Baby, time meant nothing, anything seemed real"

_Yeah…I felt like I could fly, like we'd always be young and happy and never have anything to do or anyone to tell us anything…_

"Yeah, you could kiss like fire and you made me feel"

_That kiss…_Bart thought of how completely enraptured that first kiss made him feel. It was as if a wall inside his mind had suddenly collapsed, as if a dam had burst and a torrent of new thoughts and feelings was poured into him. He looked at Jessica's lips.

_Has she kissed other guys, made them feel like I did? Could I ever have that kiss again? Where is that kiss now? Maybe it wasn't her, just…something magic there on that night, in the air, in the moonlight. Something once in a lifetime…_

"…Life is such a drag when you live in the past."

_Amen, Tom. _

Bart tried throughout the day to patch things up with Jessica. Despite his best efforts, all trying produced was what could be called, at best, an "amiable concordance". The bitter products of years of neglect and betrayal are slow in leaving a heart, especially a heart hardened by grief and tempered with the coldness of love's absence.

Around seven in the evening it was time for them to call it a day.

"Alright, and, of course, that was Santana with 'Oye Como Va'."

"_Aye carumba!_ That last song going out to my friend, local _Cannal Ocho_ actor Pedro a.k.a. "El Hombre Abejorro" a.k.a. "Bumblebee Man" Del Real, turning sixty-five today, and still able to take a spring-loaded boxing glove to the gut."

"We gotta wrap it up for tonight, Alice Cooper coming on after this with 'Nights with Alice Cooper', but first, come sail away with us and Styx with 'Come Sail Away'."

She pressed the button for the song, and then started collecting her papers. Bart rushed to the door the minute she stood, and held it open for her.

"Bart," she said with a long, drawn-out inflexion.

"Jess."

Jess walked off without another word. Bart realized his one little gesture wasn't going to win Jessica.

Bart watched from his car as Jess walked across the parking lot, a proud queen gliding on stiletto heels. Bart sighed. He turned on the stereo.

"Baby-why can't I have you? You're breakin' my heart in two-"

Bart quickly switched off the music.

"Man, I need to put in a different CD."

_Fr. O'Flaherty's House, radio room…_

Skinner, Fr. Nell, and Bob sat next to the shortwave radio.

"You're certain about that? Over."

"Yes, sir. The stone carving you described has caved in. The small chamber underneath it is empty. Over."

Skinner looked to Fr. Nell. The old priest's face was grave.

"Alright, then. Return to base Hellsing 4. This is Sergeant Skinner, over and out."

He turned off the radio.

"We failed," Bob said, his voice toneless. "The Master has awoken."

Skinner massaged his temples.

"What do we do now?"

"I'll tell you what we do!"

The three men turned and saw Alucard standing in the window.

"We do what we do best. We prepare for war."

Skinner stood up. He disliked having to work alongside vampires, but hated being given orders by one.

"The last I time I, you didn't make the decisions around here, bloodsucker."

Alucard grinned lopsidedly, revealing one of his fangs.

"And who are you to talk, momma's boy? How long did it take for you to burry her? Or do you still keep her corpse in your closet, and take it out when your wife is gone and pretend it can still tell you what to do?"

Skinner's face was dark. His mother had, who had dominated his life since he was born, died a few years after he and Edna Krabappel married. In life, the woman had nearly complete control of Seymour's thoughts and deeds. Dead, she still cast a shadow over his heart.

Skinner's knife flashed from its scabbard. He stabbed at Alucard. Alucard grinned and caught the knife with the palm of his hand. His other hand enveloped Skinner's neck, choking him. Alucard studied the knife piercing the palm of his hand, grinning at the sight of his own blood. He looked Skinner in the eyes, leering victoriously.

Fr. Nell stood up swiftly, knocking his chair over.

"Enough! Skinner! I order you to stand down!" The old priest's eyes narrowed.

"Alucard…" he said, his voice no longer authoritative, but desperate, and slightly frightened, "Let him go."

A look of utter dread filled the vampire's eyes. Alucard released his hold. Skinner collapsed, coughing. Alucard pulled the knife from his palm and dropped it in front of Skinner.

"Alucard is right. All we can do is prepare to fight. The Master must be destroyed."

_Krustyburger, upper west side, Springfield…_

Mulder and Sculley sat together at a booth. Sculley wiggled the loose shoe on her right foot nervously and continually peeked at her watch, while Mulder sat back coolly, loudly slurping the last drops of his Krusty-brand semi-congealed gelatinated beverage (known in most parts as a "milkshake").

Sulley sat up in her seat as a woman entered the restaurant. She was a somewhat dowdy woman in her mid forties, with mousey brown hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and plain features, with a choice in fashion most aptly described as "frumpy". She looked around the restaurant, seemingly vaguely disoriented, then, seeing Mulder and Sculley, walked over to their booth and sat down.

"Sorry, I had trouble finding the right place. They're about fifty of these in town, you know."

"That's alright, thank _you_ for coming," Mulder said cordially.

"Miss Blythe, we'd like to ask you a few questions about Patty Bouvier. As you may know, she's been missing for a few days now. According to her sister, she hasn't shown up at work for two days, and she's been unable to contact her by phone."

Sculley set a small tape recorder on the table, and pressed down the bright red "record" button.

"First," Mulder began, his voice low and serious, "What is your name?"

"Carrie Rose Blythe."

"Good," Mulder said, "Your age, profession, and what town you live in?"

"Forty-six, paralegal, Springfield."

"Okay. Now, what was, or, is your relationship to one Patty Anne Bouvier, believed missing since this Wednesday?"

"We've been seeing each other for three months."

"So you were romantically involved with Miss Bouvier?"

"Yes."

Mulder glanced at Sculley, who nodded and asked the next question.

"According to Patty's twin sister Selma, with whom she resides, she Patty has not been to work for the past two days, has not returned home, and hasn't answered her cell phone. Have you had contact in anyway with Patty since…let's see, Wednesday night?"

The woman shook her head, her eyes growing moist.

"No. She hasn't answered my calls, or my e-mails, anything."

"When was the last time you saw Miss Bouvier?"

"Wednesday night, about…seven."

"What was she-strike that. How did she leave? Did she, for example, leave to go to the restroom and not come back? Did she tell you that she was going home?"

The woman looked down at the table. Her eyes were now brimming with tears.

"Ma'am?"

"She left…with this girl."

Mulder raised an eyebrow. The woman sighed painfully and continued.

"We were at the lounge, you know, the 'pre-dinner round', when this obnoxious little brat Camilla walks in an-"

"I'm soory, but who is Camilla?"

"She's this little young thing, you know, pretends to be some famous writer and femme-studies expert. She travels around with all the 'mystic' groups, the Wiccans, neo-pagans, all that. She's always in the same pink dress, and is _always_ dragging along this ugly Russian bitch of hers."

Mulder looked at Sculley. Mouthed a "Shh!" and applied light pressure to his foot with the sharp heel of her shoe.

"Was she with Camilla that evening?"

"Who? Oh, Anastasia or whatever…no, actually. Hmm. So she sits down with us and is smiles and twitters, and after a while says that she's having a party at her place that night and that whoever wants is invited. First of all, she never talks to us, and second, everyone knows that she is a total freak. You know, kinky shit. She's the type that all those right-wing wackos point to as proof all gays and lesbians are deranged sex-addicts or whatever. But then Selma sits up and says that she's going. I told her that we were all going to see a movie together, and she says she'll just go for a bit and catch up to us later."

"When did you last see Patty?"

"Walking out the door with Camilla." A sudden fear came over the woman's face.

"God, I hope that freak didn't do anything to her."

"Do you know how we could get a hold of Camilla?"

The woman sniffled, then removed her glasses. Mulder handed her a napkin.

"Thanks. No. But I do know that she lives up on the Springfield Heights. It's the house with all the gargoyles."

Mulder nudged Sculley. She turned off the tape recorder and place it in her jacket.

"Thank you. This has proved very helpful. We'll let you know if anything turns up.

"Here," Mulder said, handing the woman his card, "In case you remember anything else."

"Thank you," she said.

Outside, Sculley called Fr. O'Flaherty on her cell phone, while Mulder sat on the hood of their car, making a few important calls of his own.

"Yes, a pink dress. Why?"

She heard a muffled discussion, hearing Skinner's voice in particular.

"It may be that she is the same witch that we saw in the grotto in the mountains a night ago."

"Well, she'd be dead then, right?"

"No. Her body was not found at the scene. It get's worse, Dana: the Master has awoken. The hollow underneath the seal was found empty, and several of the cultist's bodies were found freshly killed, drained of blood."

Sculley nearly dropped her phone.

"Dana?"

"Mulder…"

"It's getting dark, Sculley."

"Dana? Dana? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Father."

"I want you and Fox to go to Hollis Hurlbut and ask him about the two women with whom he discussed the dairy of Shelbyville Manhattan. Ask him if one was Russian, and if the other wore a pink dress. If so, then I believe that this Camilla woman, the witch in the ravine, and the thieves of Shelby's journal are one in the same, and that we may be able to find them, and Patty as well, at the house on Springfield Heights."

"Okay Father. Bye. Mulder, we have to go to the Springfield Historical Society."

"Better hurry. It's almost night."

Jess drove along, windows down, her hair blowing in the breeze. It was a brisk summer night, the warm air filled with pollen and sea salt. It was a good night to be alive. She toured the main drag of Springfield, looking for a place to have fun. _Hate Box…nah, too loud…Stu's Disco? Yuck, too retro. O'Malley's? Too Irish._

She decided on Bloater's at the Squidport, once a decaying dock and fishery, now one of Springfield's biggest commercial centers.

The bar was packed, as always, with raucous college students and teens with fake IDs. The din would have been deafening even without the wailing guitars from the local wannabe band performing on the stage. She saw a friend, Celeste, sitting at the end of the bar, watching the band. She took the barstool next to her and nudged her on the shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Hiya! Howya doin'?"

The bartender, a man hired solely for his looks (As stated in his résumé "Easy to look at _before and after_ the booze!") saw Jessica and offered his services. Jessica grinned coyly,

"Ma'am?"

"I'll have an Adios Motherfucker."

"An AMF. Alright."

"So, Lestie, how's it goin'?"

"Not bad. You?"

"I'm doin' fine. How's the college life?"

"Not bad. You should come by sometime. I'm in Easteridge, the party dorm."

The barkeep handed Jess her drink.

"Thanks," she said. He winked at her. Once he had walked out of perceived earshot, Celeste gasped.

"Ohmygawd, Jess! Did you see that?"

Jessica scoffed.

"Duh. You could have seen that wink from the moon. A little subtlety _please_?"

Celeste eyed the young man as he leaned against the bar.

"He's not a bad number."

Jess looked him up and down, allowing her eyes to rest a while on the man's rear.

"Meh. If you want I give him your number. I'm not interested."

"What, don't want to make Bart feel jealous?"

Jess turned her head back to Celeste.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I'm just saying…your 'on-air banter'… Kinda makes ya think there's a little 'familiarity' in there. Some 'unprofessional behavior', maybe?" she said with a willfully naughty smirk.

Jess sighed.

"We used to go out. We're just friends now. I mean…y'know, Bart's cool an' everything, but," she paused, and sipped her drink.

"What? Just, too much baggage?"

"For me and him."

It was late at night when they arrived. Three cars full-Brian, Lisa, Bart, Gina, and Millhouse in one; Marge, Homer, Skinner, Moe, and Apu in the other; and Fr. Sean, Seamus, Francesca, Mel, and Bob in the other. Otto brought with them two dozen Hellsing troops, Seras, and Alucard.

"Fall out!" Corporal Ferguson yelled. The soldiers fell into place around the large wrought iron gate of the "Gargoyle House" on Springfield Heights.

"Gate!"

"Aye sir!"

One of the soldiers tried the gate.

"Chain! Get a Hatton round up here!"

One of the troops loaded a special round in his shotgun and fired it at the lock, shattering it. The gate was pulled open, and the troops swarmed in. They scanned the yard.

"Clear!"

The hunters moved in. Seras and Alucard brought up the rear. Brian, intrigued by Seras, fell back slightly.

"Even'n," he said.

"Oh, hello. Seras Victoria, Hellsing Organization."

"Brian Callahan, Sacred Order of the The Knight of St. Michael. You're a vampire as well?"

"Yes."

"Alucard's your…what, sire? Master?"

"My master, yes. He saved me from dying by turning me."

"Rejection of the Gift of Man…" Brian muttered to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing. I guess you haven't read _The Simarillion_."

"No. Never had time for it. Guess I have all the time in the world now, right?"

"Because time means nothing to you. You've escaped from it."

"Yes," she said, and Brian clearly heard sadness in her voice.

The Hellsing troops surrounded the house, and simultaneously kicked-in the outside doors, charging in from all sides. The hunters waited outside, watching with guns drawn.

"All clear sir!"

"Alucard," Coporal Ferguson said, "Seras, go in and make sure."

"There aren't any in there," Alucard sighed, lighting a cigarette, "I could have told you that before we even got off the bus."

"Why didn't you tell us that earlier!"

"I felt you all could use some exercise."

"Grrr…"

The hunters moved into the house to have a look-see. The house stank of rotting flesh and incense. Loose papers and ashes littered the floor.

"Looks like they cleared out of here in a hurry."

"Ugh! Smells like one of VanHouten's!"

"It does not!"

"Excuse me," one of the Hellsing soldiers said, "You might want to come check out the basement."

In the basement, they discovered a hideous sight. The source of the smell was a rotting corpse lying on a black altar, surrounded by buzzing black flies. Behind the altar hung a black tapestry with bearing a silver pentagram.

Lisa spied something at the foot of the altar. She bent over and picked up a small, brown book.

"'Ex libris Shelbyville Manhattan'."

"Mr. Hurlbut's book."

Alucard had entered the basement. He grinned wickedly.

"You find this amusing, vampire?" Fr Sean asked.

"Delightfully so."

Seras approached the black altar. She looked at the black tapestry curiously, then approached it.

"Good," Alucard growled, "She's improving."

Seras gave the tapestry a tug, pulling it from its hooks and revealing a hidden room.

On the wall facing the them was inscribed an enormous inverted cross, surrounded by blasphemous writings.

"'Ave Satanus', 'From Hell's Gate Wide Open-On the Road to the No-Life King', 'The Blood is the Life', 'The Path of Power over the Path of Pain-The Enemy Wills Man to be Weak, The Master Sets Him Free'."

The room was filled with woman hanging from the ceiling by their wrists. Alucard grinned. Marge gasped and rushed over to one. Pulling up her head, she saw that it was Patty.

"Patty! Patty! Wake up! Oh God!"

"Hey, English dudes," Bart yelled, "Medic! Pronto! We need a medic down here!"

"And some bolt cutters!" Brian added.

The Hellsing soldiers and the Hunters, save for Marge, Homer, and Lisa, left just before the police and ambulance arrived. Alucard remained in the yard, watching the house from the shadows, grinning.

_Fools…its hardly over yet. But O, how much fun this all will be!_


	10. Where No One Knows Your Name

Moe's Tavern

More stood at the bar, wiping a mug with same filthy rag he'd used for the past thirty years. He kept eyeing the clock anxiously.

"Hey, Moe! 'There something on your mind?" Lenny asked.

"Yeah, you keep eyeing the clock…in a manner I best describe as 'anxious'."

"What? I'm not nervous! Who's nervous? Get outta here!" he pulled his shotgun out from under the bar, brandishing it in his client's faces. "Git! Come on!"

Lenny, Carl, and the other barflies new better than to trifle with Moe when he got the shotgun out. Quickly tossing whatever they could find in their pockets on the counter, they raced out of the bar, yelping in fear.

A short while later the Hunters arrived.

"Hey, Moe," Homer said.

"Ah, jeez, I tells you guys, I can hardly stand this," said sighed, leaning on his shotgun. His ersatz gun went off, blasting two large holes in the ceiling. Moe was showered with plaster and squeaking rats. "Cinnamon," he gasped, picking up one of the rats, "Oh my God! Are you alright?"

The rat squeaked affirmatively.

"Ah, jeez, that scared me!"

"Beers all around," Brian said, plopping down a hundred dollar bill. Moe's eyes went wide. "Oh, ho ho! Nevada here I come! Legalized prostitution, baby! I…ahem, coming right up, good sirs."

Homer put his hand on Brian's shoulder.

"Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Bart, Millhouse, Kearney, Dolph, Jimbo, Nelson, and Willie all took Duff.

"And, for the padres, and Mr. Callahan here, Duff Stout imitation Irish, and for the pretty boys here," he said, eyeing Mel and Bob surreptitiously, "…_Martinis_. Ladies?"

"Gee, Moe, I never thought that you took requests," Lisa said in surprise.

"Yeah," Bart said, "Usually you slide a Duff over in a chipped mug and threaten people who ask for anything else with, like a rusty knife or something."

"Ah well, the rest of those bums don't do crap to keep the city safe."

"What about those firefighters you refused to give free beer to?"

"Ah well, they're just _Backdraft_ wannabes. I tell ya, that movie took all the honor outta firefightin'."

"Hmm," Marge murmured, "Alright, I'll have a glass of wine."

"Ah yes, me too," Francesca chimed.

"Do you have any white wine?" Lisa asked, "The sulfites in red wine give me a headache."

"_White_ wine? Missy, you're in the wrong bar. All I've got is 'Chateau Maison'," he explained, holding up a bottle of red wine labeled 'Chateau Maison 1999-Now Antifreeze Free!'.

"Hrrmmm…I'll just have that domestic Guinness knock-off."

"Always a good decision," Brian beamed.

"Hey-hey on the slogan for beer I can'ts afford, college boy!"

"Just gimme a Duff," Gina said.

Once the drinks were distributed and the chairs set-up, Father O'Flaherty took his place at the metal podium across from the bar.

"Good, we're all here. Now, as ye may now know, we're in a bit of state of emergency. For Gina, our newest member, that means that we'll be meeting weekly, rather than our 'usual' schedule of once every two weeks. Our three meeting houses are Moe's, the Maison Derriere, and Brian's house, which is past all those orange groves on the edge of town. Meeting times are never posted, and are decided by myself within the hour the meeting is to begin. Mel is handing out a phone list. It is a chain made up of all members, and is meant to speed up communication by preventing say, me calling Marge, then her calling Mel, but Moe already trying to call Mel because he heard from Kearney who heard from Bart who heard from Marge…you see how it works."

Mel was passing the phone lists when he encountered Bob. Bob grinned coolly, saying,

"Melvin?"

"Hello, cousin," Mel said through gritted teeth, "Here's your accursed list, you bloodthirsty blackguard."

"Come now, Mel, not here."

Mel handed the last copy of the list to Francesca and walked away, muttering to himself.

"To think I'm related to you and your murderous brother…and, by matrimony, that Tuscan murderess and her unholy brood!"

Father Sean continued.

"We've been fortunate to actually receive a response from the Vatican on this. The Holy See is working to provide funding, arms, and training to all chapters of the Order, and has already produced some small pamphlets on the identification and eradication of the Undead, this handy monster chart, listing every known fiend ever encountered, and this handy new DVD featuring D-list celebrity Troy McClure."

He held up the DVD.

"Now, they sent only one to each group, but, as she's the only new member, I figured that Gina should have it. Here you go, lass."

"Thanks," she said, her upper lip turned up slightly.

"Next item on our agenda: we've been joined, as you may know, by a team from the Hellsing Organization. The Hellsing Organization, a secret branch of the British government, under the authority of the Queen herself, and subservient to the Anglican Church, remains one of the wealthiest and most effective anti-freak organizations in the world. This is partly due to heavy support by the British government, and partly due to the fact that they have in their employ one of the most powerful vampires in the world, Alucard."

"Alucard is an Archvampyr, the highest rank of vampire. He is very old and ridiculously powerful. How or why he came into service of Hellsing remain unknown, but we do know that he is obedient only to the Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing, the granddaughter of Dr. Abram Van Hellsing, the same one described in Bram Stoker's novel. Sir Integra-"

" 'Sir'?"

"Yes, 'sir'. Don't ask me why. Anyhoo, _Sir _Integra controls Alucard. Normally, she keeps his powers locked through some form of magical restraints, but, for this mission, I have been informed that Integra released the restrictions to the highest level. He is extremely dangerous, and should not be approached unless necessary. On a similar note, we have his sireling, Seras Victoria. Aged twenty at the time of her death, she is now an ageless vampire. She has only been a vampire for five years, yet is nearly Master-class now. Though innocent and good-natured, as much so as a vampire can be, she is still a creature of evil. Normally, we would kill her on sight, but, in the given circumstances, we must fight alongside her."

"I say all this because we are in a difficult situation for vampire hunters. We must actually ally with Vampyr, and with those who consort with them, in order to defeat a greater evil. Though they may be our allies, I want you to remember that they are still evil."

He paused for a moment, and helped himself to another swig of beer. He cleared his throat, then continued.

"The Hellsing troops are camping in a field outside of town, near Brian's home. Alucard and Seras are camping out in your basement, correct?"

"Yeah, they are."

"As for our friends from the Federal Bureau of Investigations, Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Sculley, they work for the FBI investigating paranormal events and unsolved crimes with a tinge of the unreal. They are useful because of their powers as federal agents, especially with their access to records generally kept from our reach. However, as agents of the United States government and non-members of the Order, they are not to be informed of anything unless it is imperative. They are "in-the-loop, but out-of-the-loop", so to speak."

"Finally, I've been discussing the matter with fellow vampire hunters on the web over the last few years, and I think we've come to the consensus that exorcized and blessed bullets made of standard materials are more effective than non-blessed silver bullets and cheaper and more widely available than blessed silver. So, Fat Tony, our dear criminal friend, is providing us with hollowpoint rounds with flexible polymer tips that increase the rate of expansion. These will be available in all our standard calibers, including our foreign weapons like our AK's, and Francesca's .50 BMG. According to Antonio, they'll arrive on the next drug boat."

The group ambled out the bar. Lisa was going to go with Bart, but was stopped by Brian. She frowned.

"Brian…"

"Lisa, what I did was wrong, but I merely did that to diffuse the situation."

"You were quite the ass, Brian. You sided against me, and against my family."

"With my Faith? That's surprises you? Lisa…I meant well. I'm sorry. Fr. Sean's words and actions were wrong, but you know that I believe what principles he acted on."

Lisa nodded. "I know. But you know I don't agree with those principles. I see them as heartless, as evil."

Brian looked at her directly in the eyes.

"Evil? Lisa, we fight evil. We fight the forces of evil, fight it with the grace that comes from God, through the ministry of His Church. You've seen the forces of evil. You've seen the power of the Devil. Why then can't you trust the authority of God? Does it violate your own individual liberty that much? Is it that hard to swallow your pride and admit your good intentions don't add up to a damn in the face of evil. Evil is a black tide rising up to destroy humanity, drag it down from the rocks of existence and into the roiling seas of oblivion. Only with the life line of Grace can he hold on."

Lisa was waiting for him to stop. She listened intently, but was also formulating a response.

" 'God is Love'. Right? So how can God oppose love?"

"Who tells us that? Who tells us what love is? The Church. Thus, when the Church…"

To Lisa's disbelief, he stopped.

"I am an ass."

He shook his head.

"You want to come to my place…coffee, cake."

He took her out to his house on the back of his motorcycle. The warm summer air in her hair, the smell of orange blossoms and the sea made Lisa feel at ease.

_Glorious life. Nature. I am amongst it and amongst the ageless and universal. I am at peace. I can't hate this man. He's a nutcase, a fanatic, uptight, and slightly out of shape. But he's smart. He's funny. He's kind. And he truly loves every human being, even if his archaic beliefs make him act the contrary. And he knows this too. And he knows what its like, the feeling of seeing the sun come out during a downpour, and feeling at one with the very music of creation, the life force of the universe. I do love him._

They rolled up the gravel drive, and Brian brought them to a stop. He put out the kickstand and turned off the bike.

Lisa followed him to the door. He paused, and she noticed that the door was slightly ajar.

He put his finger to his lips and then drew his pistol. Lisa gulped nervously, then reached inside her coat and pulled out her 9mm. They entered the house slowly, carefully scanning the dark foyer.

They heard a rattling sound.

"Kitchen."

They advanced in tandem, guns at the ready. Lisa heard footsteps, and saw the familiar pale glow of a refrigerator light.

She looked to Brian, who nodded. Counting _1…2…3_ in her mind, they leapt out together, shouting.

"HEY!"

"Hah!"

"Whoa!"

Seras Victoria was standing in front of the refrigerator, a carton in her hand.

Brian growled and lowered his gun, muttering angrily, "Seras! For the love of poundcake…Jeez…"

"Um, sorry. I jus' felt like havin' a little snack."

She held up the carton, which Lisa realized was not a milk carton, but a carton of blood.

Brian sighed.

"Well, no need to stand around, Seras. Have a seat. I'll put the tea on."

After the tea had brewed Brian brought the kettle with two mugs and a two slices of upside-down cake to the table where Lisa and Seras had sat down. Seras was talking to Lisa, saying,

"Well, that _is_ a bit of a plus. I have had a lot more time to read. I've missed out on a lot of my favorite programmes, though. No TiVo at the HQ."

"Tea? Cake?"

"Oh, thank you Brian."

"I'd offer you some, Seras, but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't do any good for you."

" 'S'alright, Brian," she said, giving her half-empty carton a shake.

"Seras was just talking about how she…was turned."

"Oh?" Brian said, sitting down across from Lisa. "You're Alucard's vampiric offspring, aren't you? A child of House _Dra-coo-llea_," he smirked, over-accentuating the last word.

"Well, yes. He saved my life."

Brian smiled smugly.

"So, Seras, have you been keeping up much of world events?"

"Somewhat. My work keeps me busy usually, but it's difficult not to hear a little."

"What do you think of the matters in the Middle East?"

"Oh yes, all the fighting going on over those kidnapped Israeli soldiers! Bloody terrible."

"I say they're all idiots," Lisa said, "Every response to prior violence results only in retaliation! It's a downward spiral of violence, and it wouldn't be going on if the Israelis treated the Palestinians like human beings."

"Of course, that gives the Palestinians all the right in the world to send a suicide bomber to kill innocent women and children and civilians in a deli," Brian retorted.

"Of course it doesn't! I'm just saying that the State of Israel shouldn't have been placed there in the first place, it shouldn't have expanded its borders, and it shouldn't keep pursuing its fanatical cultural genocide against the Palestinians."

Seras rolled her eyes and stared off into space.

_Crap…political debate…_

"We're boring you, aren't we?" asked Lisa.

"Um…no, not really."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Seras broke the ice with a cough, and then asked,

"Alucard says that you two are psychics. Is that really true?"

Lisa eyed Brian, cautioning him not to say anything confidential, and replied,

"We're more what Fr. Sean calls 'sensitives'. We've developed an affinity for the supernatural from repeated exposure to it."

"It's a gift," Brian continued, "Like…healing with a touch, or speaking in tongues, and the like."

There was an electronic beeping.

"Oops!" Seras gasped, "I'm late reporting to nightly drills. Have to see what the others are up to. Well, tah tah!"

She vanished.

"That's a little unnerving, isn't it?"

Brian nodded.

"Yes, I don't know what I've gotten myself into inviting these vampires as houseguests."

They washed their plates and drinks off in the kitchen. They drank some cider and sat out on the porch for timeless hours, watching the stars. Around one in the morning Lisa decided that she had to get home, and Brian revved up the motorbike and drove her back to her apartment.

"Good night, Brian. I really enjoyed it out at your house."

"Good night!"

He sped off into the darkness.

_God, I'm tired. I don't think that I'll even make it up the stairs._

After what felt like years, especially after spending three hours with Brian that felt like three minutes, she reached her apartment. Sheer force of habit kept her from just flopping on the bed still in her clothes. She took a long, warm shower, letting the water run down her body, dissolving the stress. She toweled off, slipped on some panties and a T-shirt, and collapsed on her bed.

She was in the garden at Brian's house. The wind was gusting forcefully, scattering leaves before it like a huntsman scattering a flock of birds. The wind blew from the south, and the west, creating fierce whirlwinds filled with leaves and shattered roses.

The slate sky flashed with lightning, and the roiling black seas loomed high on the horizon. Lisa ran up the garden path. A lightning-struck tree shattered and burst into flames. She began to climb a set of steps. The gravel seemed to roll under her feet like ball bearings. She climbed, slowly, painfully, her bare feet bleeding. Then, in the flash of lightning, she saw it at the top of the steps.

Its tattered wings rustled in gale force winds. His mouth was held open by his curved fangs, his breaths sharp and rasping. A black tail lashed from side to side, making pits in the earth. His thick, muscular legs ended in talons, and between them squirmed an asp, its mouth dripping venom. It gripped the ground with its talons and gestured; pointing to the sky with its right hand and the ground with its left. Every plant in the garden was covered with black locust, their humming still building in pitch and volume. Every inch of her body itched. The mandibles tore and ground, the claws grasped, the spiny legs rubbed, the wings rustled and brushed and thrummed.

"Stop!"

She awoke to a red summer morning.


	11. There's Something Strange About Patty

There's Something (Strange) About Patty…

Selma nudged her sleeping sister.

"Hey! Get up, you bag of bones!"

Patty groaned and rolled over.

"Call the boss. Tell 'im died."

"Ah no! They cut you some slack for getting in chained in the basement of some leather-and-pentagram freaks. Don't push it. As it is, you've used up _both_ of our sick days."

Patty grunted and got out of bed.

"That's more like it."

Patty held her stomach.

"Crap. I tell you, that hospital food is death itself."

"Take some fiber pills or somethin'."

A few minutes later the three Bouviers were at the kitchen table. Breakfast that morning featured orange juice, coffee, whole-wheat toast, and the deceptively-named "Grape Nuts" (which don't taste like grapes or nuts, and, as it were, contain neither and can only be eaten after being left to sogiffy for twelve minutes in a bowl of milk-fifteen minutes for soymilk).

"You alright, Aunt Patty?"

" 'Course I am, kiddo." She tapped her sister on the arm. "Pass the coffee." She poured herself a mug. "Mmm…sweet caffeine."

"What happened? Where'd you go?"

Patty made a sickened face. Selma murmured nervously.

"She had a very bad experience. Let's never speak of it again. To completely change the topic, what've you got planned, Ling? Going to the library?"

"Nah, I'm going to hang out with Maggie. Lisa's taking Eric, Felicia an' her to Brian's house for a picnic."

"That's big of her," Patty said. She poured herself some more coffee.

"That Brian is certainly a nice young man," Selma beamed.

"I think Lisa likes him."

"Meh. There's somethin' weird about that kid," Patty scoffed, puffing smoke from her first cigarette in five days, "No man I've ever met has known the difference between Chardonnay and Pinot Gris."

"Well, he is kind of a metro. I mean, partly why he wanted all us over is to help deadheading his roses."

"Eh?" Patty grunted.

"Cutting the dead rose hips of the bushes. He says the ones from his dog roses are edible. He uses them for jams and rose wine. But he says those ones won't be ripe for a while."

"Hmm. Well, that sounds like you've got your day all planned. Time to hit the road, Patty."

"Alright."

"Bye, sweetie."

"Bye, mom."

"See ya, kiddo."

Patty felt a noxious weight in her stomach. Her mouth felt dry and swollen.

"You okay? You look really pale."

"I think I'm gonna upchuck. Excuse me."

Patty rushed into the women's restroom. She found a stall barely closed the door behind herself when she felt her stomach start to heave. She fell forward, grabbing the toilet seat with her hands, and vomited. Her stomach bucked and tossed, forcing her breakfast and mid-morning donut out of her stomach. She closed her eyes as the puke splashed in the bowl. Coughing and gagging, she spat the last of it out. She opened her eyes. The bowl was red. It was filled with blood. A human fetus floated in blood, staring up at her with misty grey eyes. Patty screamed and staggered backwards, slamming against the stall door.

The bowl contained nothing but vomit. Patty was shaking with fright, her throat sore and raw from the stomach acid. She went to the sink and flushed out her mouth. She splashed cold water on her face. _I gotta be loosin' it. Keep it together, Patty. Crap._

She grabbed a paper towel and wiped her face dry. She looked in the mirror. A skeleton stood behind her, its eyeless sockets staring into the Void, seeing all, and nothing. She jumped and spun around in the air, screaming. No one was behind her.

Patty's knees were starting to give in. She struggled for the door.

_I'm…I'm going crazy…I'm seeing things. That's the only explanation…_

The bathroom lights flickered and died. Patty heard a woman scream.

Patty awoke on the sticky bathroom floor. Rhoda, one of the filing secretaries, walked in the restroom.

"Trying to peek under the stalls, Pat?"

"You wish," Patty growled.

She got up, struggled for a moment to not fall over, and left.

Patty struggled to make it through the rest of her work day. The hallucinations in the restroom unnerved her terribly and, in the dull slog of the DMV, that anxiousness could only grow, the desire to sleep brought on by the boring work and warm sunlight only intensifying her feelings that some malignant force was trying to lull her to sleep and then consume her.

Five o'clock came as it always did. The two sisters shooed the fifty or so queued people out the door, telling them (most likely falsely) that they'd be taken care of first thing in the morning.

Selma could sense that her twin wasn't well, and offered to drive home. They passed through the city in the fading light of the late afternoon, watching sweat-drenched men trudging home from work in the still-brilliant sunlight while their children frolicked in the shade of the trees and apartment buildings. They passed through ethnic town, taking in the smells of spice and grease and humanity. Vendors wheeled their rickety carts along the cracked pavement. Women sat on the front steps of their homes, speaking with neighbors and bouncing wailing infants on their knees while their older children ran barefoot in the streets, playing hide-and-go-seek, kickball, ringolevio, and "beg lost tourists for spare change". Their older siblings, teens and young adults, jobless or laborers, poor and destitute, lurked in the shadows, smoking, drinking, gambling and showing off new cars and cheap jewelry. The eldest sat inside or in the shade, speaking ancient languages in hushed tones, occasionally cursing loudly and spitting on the ground.

The squalor slowly fell behind. They passed under the freeway, and the apartments became newer and taller. Within minutes, they were pulling into the parking lot across from Spinster City Apartments.

Through the lobby, up in the elevator, down the hall. They went in the apartment, home at last. Selma saw the message light on the answering machine blinking. She pressed the button.

"Hi, mom? I'm going to spend the night at Aunt Margie and Uncle Homer's. Aunt Marge said she can bring me back tomorrow. Thanks mom! Love you, bye:

Selma found Patty sitting on the couch, her head back, eyes shut.

"So, pizza or Lean Cuisine?"

Patty opened one eye.

"I'm not feeling too good. I'll just check my computer and then hit the sack."

Patty logged on to her computer and went to her Myspace account.

"Messages…one from Carrie…"

She read Carrie's message. Carrie, of course, was terribly upset. She had tried to visit Patty at the hospital following her discovery in the basement of the abandoned mansion, but ran afoul of the Hunters, Fr. Nell in particular. She had was sedated with morphine at the time, but had had the event related to her by Selma, Marge, and Lisa.

What the entire affair boiled down to was that Fr. Nell began badgering Carrie when she tried to see Patty. Selma said that he was being an idiot and that Carrie could go in. Marge and Lisa sided with Selma, Homer, Bart, and Brian sided with Fr. O'Flaherty. Brian defused the situation by going to one of the security guards and telling him to remove Carrie from the premises.

Carrie was devastated. She had thought that Patty had told her family about her, and that they had been alright with her. She certainly hadn't expected a Catholic priest to condemn their relationship as inherently sinful, and to condemn them both to Hell lest they repented.

Selma wrote a response, trying to explain the best she could the situation in her family.

_Carrie, I'm sorry about the whole stupid mess. I should have known better than to go off with those freaks, and I'm sorry I left you hanging there. I should have told you about how weird my family is, especially my in-law Homer, and his kids. I swear, its like he's missing a couple chromosomes or something. Well, Lisa's alright, bad choice in men though. _

_Anyways, they did know about my orientation, and Selma knew about me and you. Its just that Bart and Homer are Catholics, like Lisa's boyfriend, and they're under the sway of the drunken loon O'Whatshisname. It's truly amazing the medieval crap the Church gets people to believe in. I honestly had no idea that they would all be there, and that they'd actually treat you like that. I've tried to talk to Marge, but she can't control that fat idiot. Oh well, guess that's what we just have to live with. I think this has to be the one country in the civilized world where they'd still treat people like this. _

_I want to see you again. How about we go out to dinner Wednesday? Selma and I have to watch Marge's kids tomorrow night. Marge and Homer have to go to something-she's probably dragging Homer to his court-ordered AA meeting. _

_See you 'round, Pat._

She sent off the message, and then logged off. She took her shower while Selma got Ling ready for bed and tucked her in, and then sat up watching _MacGyver_ and smoking, then went to bed.

"Any more hallucinations, sis?"

"Nah. Must've been that coffee in the break room."

" 'Night"

" 'Night."

Both donned their sleep masks and nodded off.

Patty dreamt that she was in a forest. She found an acorn, picked it up, and ate it. Felt a strange sensation in her stomach. A small sprout was growing out her navel. It grew, producing leaves and tiny curlicue vines. A bud appeared at the top of the sprout. The swelled, and then opened, revealing a small, yellow flower. The petals spread revealing a skull. Blood began to drip from its bleached teeth. The death's head flower rose skyward, spilling blood over Patty's eyes.

The doorbell rang.

"Coming," Gina yelled from the bathroom. She finished putting in her last earing, then walked briskly to the door. She slipped on her black boots and started tying the laces. The doorbell rang a second time.

"I said I'm coming!"

She finished tying her laces. She grabbed her purse and opened the door. Bart stood waiting, wearing a white shirt, jeans, hightops, and a black sportscoat.

"Hey."

"Hi," she answered.

"Well?"

"I'm ready."

"Okay."

They walked out to Bart's car.

"Where to for dinner?" she asked.

"I was thinking my place."

Gina laughed.

"_You_ cook dinner?"

"Yeah, I got the whole spread set out. Spaghetti, salmon, salad-all homemade by yours truly!"

"Wow, Bart. I didn't know."

They reached Bart's apartment. Bart stopped her right outside the door.

"Just a moment," he said hurriedly, "I have to check and make sure nothing's burning."

He rushed inside, closing the door behind himself.

Brian and Luigi Risotto from Luigi's restaurant were in the kitchen.

"Everything ready?"

Luigi stabbed a knife in the cutting board.

"Yes! No-a thanks to you! I cannot-a believe I let you-a talk-a me into this," Luigi grumbled as he set two plates of pasta and fish on Bart's dinning room table, "I have a restaraunte to-a run!"

"Brian, you made the-"

"Fruit salad and the desert? Yes."

"Good. Good job cleaning up. I like the candles, nice touch. You picked out a good wine?"

He pointed to a bottle on the counter.

"Chianti Classico. Sideshow Bob's gift."

"You tested it for poison, right?"

"He-a drank-a half the bottle!"

Brian hiccoughed and quickly covered his mouth.

"Well guys, I'm very thankful."

"What's going on it there?"

Bart's eyes went wide.

"Quick, out the window."

"Freakin' A…"

Brian and Luigi climbed out the window and onto the fire escape.

"Thanks a lot!"

"No problem."

Luigi shook his fist.

"I keel you-a, scum!"

Bart slammed the window shut, then raced over to the door and opened it.

"_Entre-vous_!"

"Wow, Bart! Nice place."

"Thank you. Have a seat."

Gina sat down and looked around. Brian had spent the afternoon sweeping, mopping, dusting, vacuuming, and polishing the entire apartment, transforming the empty beer can filled bachelor pad into a "love shack" (as Bart had called it).

"So, Bart," Gina said, "How's working at a radio station? Not exactly digging ditches, is it?"

"Ah, well, you know. The pay's alright for getting to sit on my butt and listen to music all day. Plus, I get promotional junk now and then, and enjoy a little bit of local celebrity. So what's the deal with you working at juvie? It's the last place I'd figure'd you'd be going to every day."

Gina picked up her glass of wine, gave it a slight swirl, and then took a fair-sized gulp.

"Well, the thing is, my childhood was shit. I spent most of my first eighteen years behind bars. I mean, I only survived because I was the toughest girl in the joint, and even then, I had to deal with the creepy guards. But I got lucky. I shaped up, went to school, got a job. I figured that…you know, I should helping those girls out, letting them know that that life isn't the way to go, and that you can still turn yourself around and be, you know, a productive, normal member of society."

Bart nodded.

"So, how'd you get into vampire hunting? I mean, were you like me, or what?"

Bart leaned forward a bit, fidgeting in his chair.

"Well actually, my sister was attacked."

"Maggie?"

"Lisa. Her second grade teacher, Ms. Hoover, turned out to be a vampire, and tried to kill her. Mulder and Sculley got involved 'cause of all the deaths surrounding the teacher, and in the middle of it all, we found out that Fr. Sean and Fr. Nell were secretly part of this secret order of Catholic vampire hunters. And that was after my dad and I nearly converted, you know, when I had to go to St. Jerome's."

"And that's how you got in?"

"My parents, anyway. Last year, Mr. Burns, you know, that rich old dead guy? He came back as a vampire and tried to kill Maggie and Eric. So that's when Jess and I joined."

Gina set down her fork and knife.

"Jessica Lovejoy? She knows about all this?"

"Yeah. She got out of it, though. We were sorta' hooking up at the time that Burns came back, and she got involved, but, seriously, that chick has too many issues, and plus, she said she didn't want to 'endanger her life for a family that wasn't her own'…Bitch."

"And so you broke up?"

"Yeah. I went out with her once in fourth grade, and she ended up stabbing me in the back and getting me blamed for stealing money from her dad's church. I should've learned then that she was no good."

"'Fool me twice, shame on me', right?"

"I guess. So, how your love life been, you know?"

"I know what?"

"Before…me?"

Gina smiled.

"Uh…same parade of jerks and freaks and pervs that going out usually is. Guys in Springfield have learned not to mess with me, though. Enough of them have had their thumbs broke."

"Yowch!"

"Well, I'm done. That was good."

"Thanks…I'll be sure to tell Luigi," he said, mumbling the last few words.

"What?"

"Nothing. Wanna go dancing?"

"Sure."

"Alright."

They went to the H8 Box, Springfield's finest underground club. Gina was amazed at the degree of piercing, tattooing, and hair styling that she could see, as well as how many of her former cell mates she saw. She saw a lanky blonde with pierced lips and pierced eyebrows making out with a grungy man against the wall.

"Hey! Ritz!"

The girl looked her way. Recognizing Gina, she shoved the man away and rushed over.

"Gina! Oh-my-Gawd!" she gasped, "I haven't seen you in years! How are you doing?"

"I'm fine. I see you haven't changed much. This is Bart."

"Oh yeah, I know you. You was in the grade right below mine. You're the one that put a cherry bomb in the toilets and nearly killed Skinner's mom."

"Yup. Weren't you one of those girls in that used to hang out and smoke in the bathrooms by the trophy cases?"

"Yeah, me, Pink, Zip, and Jess Lovejoy. You're on the radio with her, aintcha?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. I like your show. You need to play more Clash, though. All of there's I ever hear is 'Rock the Casbah'."

"'I'm Bored with the USA' and 'London's Burning' do it for ya?"

"Yeah, 'Straight to Hell' and 'Police On My Back', too."

"You still hangin' out with Pink," asked Gina.

"Yeah, where is she? She's probably getting tattooed in the restroom somewhere."

They sat down at the bar and ordered a round of 'smart drinks' and talked. Pink showed up, sporting several new tattoos.

"Check it out!" she exclaimed as she pulled up her T-shirt.

"Hoo-ho!" Bart laughed.

Gina was slightly shocked, as Pink was clearly not wearing a bra. She had about half a dozen tattoos across her stomach and chest. The newer ones were evident by the redness and swelling surrounding them. The new ones included a griffin, a H.I.M. insignia, and a complex Celtic knot. She turned around, and on the small of her back was a the tattoo of a small, red, yellow, and black insect with a the image of a skull on its thorax.

Gina leaned in to look at it closer.

"What's that?"

"One of those creepy moths. Like from 'Silence of the Lambs'."

"Cool," Ritz said.

Bart seemed slightly unnerved by the image of the moth.

"Bart," Gina asked, "You alright?"

"Yeah, sure. Let's go dance."

The four headed out onto the dance floor. Ritz and Pink danced together for a while, then grabbed two guys as they walked by, while Bart and Gina danced together. Some local garage band was playing, shrieking and strumming and trying their best to be the next Nirvana. They played several fast songs, and Bart and Gina danced until they were sweating.

"Alright! Let's slow this down. Set a little mood!" the band leader announced over the microphone, "One, two, three!"

The band began to play "Heaven", by the Talking Heads. Bart and Gina slow danced, oblivious to the person watching them with hatred. Jessica Lovejoy glared at the couple through the crowd. She stood watching them ruefully, then left the H8 box.

The death's head flew from the flower. Patty stood watching it. The blood and the plant had vanished. The skull emitted a shrill chirping as it darted about on yellow wings. It lighted on a tree, where it began to hum. Patty could not take her eyes away from it. She felt as though she was being pulled towards it. The death's head seemed a flat image, a paper cut-out being drawn towards her face. She could see a flickering light beyond the black sockets. The image vanished, leaving her in the darkness behind the head's empty eyes, and in the distance burned an immense funeral pyre. Men and women were being heaved into it alive by indistinguishable black figures.

The jarring beeping of the alarm clock was screeching in the background. She opened her eyes. The room was a grey blur. Slowly, the alarm clock came into focus. Selma's hand slammed down on the top of it, killing the sound.


	12. Darkness Eternal

Darkness. All and darkness. The night was hot and maddening, invoking the madness that occurs only when one stands at the edge of the Abyss, daring to peak at the evil that dwells within the pits of Acheron. Light glinting through windows carried the madness into the deathly still house. Silence, and darkness.

Torches burned, their light rendering the yellow faces pale, like the dead. The Master sat on a high oaken chair, his impromptu throne.

"_Sanguis bibimus,_

_Corpus edimus._

_Sanguis bibimus,_

_Corpus edimus."_

"_Ave Satani,_

_Illuminati mea._

_Ave versus Christi._

_Tolle corpus Satani."_

The Master stood. Camilla and Mariya, who had been seated by his side, stood and looked at each other in nervous anticipation. Camilla marveled at the face-pale, leathery, with impenetrably dark eyes that were ever moving, ever searching. The pale, ragged lips parted, revealing long, yellow fangs. A suprisingly gentle, almost paternal voice issued forth.

"My friends, I come to you now, because you have lost direction. Now, don't get me wrong. I look at the world, and what to I see? Freedom! And I love that! Liberation from the overbearing Man upstairs, from the fat, gin-swilling moralists-" he made the 'money' gesture, "Lining their pockets with their follower's desire for meaning to their futile lives, and those two-faced ministers to the Absent Deity, who preach peace and love only to get to their parishoner's teenage sons!"

"How I do love this modern age! Science has eliminated the need for some mythical source for the universe, and technology has freed man from the need to turn to some apathetic ghost for deliverance. Desire is embraced, not suppressed! Appetites satisfied, not ignored! Man now rightly abhors pain, and rejects the masochistic Right-Hand Path, carving for himself the path to fulfillment and meaning."

He strode over to a nearby table, and picked up a wine glass filled with blood. He took a sip, then grinned.

"What we need, mmm-," he drained the glass, then smacked his lips, "Aah, that's good hemoglobin. What we need, is to go on to the next step. Mankind has evolved from dependence on the Enemy, to doing lipservice to Him, to claiming his own path to Him, to out-and-out denying the Tyrant's existence. The next step is to willfully _defy_ the Tyrant, to take what He loves and corrupt it to serve the opposite purpose, or, failing to do that," he paused infront of a portrait of C. Montgomery Burns, and looked at it for a while, then tore it from the wall and ripped it in half, "_Destroy them utterly!_"

The crowd cheered. An man stepped forth from the crowd. "O esteemed one!"

The Master approached him. The man prostrated himself before the vampire, then rose to one knee.

"Most gracious servant of the Lightbearer, I am Bashar bin Osmar, vampire sired by Khalid the Undying before he was, sadly, killed in Southern India. I come from Palestine to do your bidding, exalted one!"

The vampire tried to kiss his hand. The Master grimaced and pulled away in disgust.

"Get up! I may have need for you, Bashar, the bearer of good news. Your land is the perfect breeding ground for an army."

"An army, my lord?"

Camilla was surprised by the development entirely. _What army? He's said nothing of this to me._

"I need a book from the archives of the Vatican. I cannot risk travel, especially to the Holy See, so I will need you to raise for me an army of vampires in your homeland. Yours is a place of unending violence, as it was even when I last walked the earth. What better place than the blood-stained cradle of civilization to create an army of the undead to attack the Holy See."

The attendants and congregants whispered exitedly.

"We will not try to destroy the Vatican, yet. As it is, the Catholic Church is an anemic relic, a fossil, an anachronism. It should be put out of its misery, and will. They have in their possession a book, the one remaining unabridged copy of the _Necronomicon_, the Book of the Dead. With time, and the power that of the spells inscribed in that book, we shall destroy the belief in..._God_-! And we shall liberate man from weakness, and fear, and ignorance, and, on a river of blood, on a road paved with skulls, we shall march down the path of light to eternity."

After the meeting had concluded, Camilla and Mariya decided that they needed answers. They approached the Master's chamber.

"Careful, Camilla. You don't know what he'll do."

"Shutup, I know. Sorry. I'll be careful."

Camilla walked up to the Master's throne and knelt.

The Master smiled and laughed.

"What is it, dear heart?"

"M'lord, why was I not informed of your plan? I do not doubt your judgement, I-"

"Aww," he cooed, "Poor baby! Felt left out? Pah!"

He leapt to his feet, and marched over to a glass display case by the wall. Camilla rose to her feet, tentatively.

"This book," he growled, pointing at the book inside the case, a large tome in shiny faux-leather binding, "Is incomplete!" He smashed open the case and removed the book, then went flipping through the pages.

"Oh, you can ressurect a butterfly, or make rosewater that will cause face sores, but can you summon a demon? Invoke a generations-long curse? Kill? No! Nothing but phony spells, silly chants, incense and peppermints, nonsense! Why then, do you think that it would contain something substantial enough to warrant my using it?"

Camilla looked down, horrily afraid for her life. Mariya watched from around the corner, biting the back of her thumb.

"Forgive me, Lord, but, what is it that you need, if I may even bother you by asking?"

"Hmph. I seek nothing more than power. I need to build a base, Camilla, and this town is as good as anywhere else. Between Shelbyville and Springfield, I have more than one hundred thousand lives. Coastal access, railroads, mountains, rivers, Capital City and its quarter-million inhabitants a mere stone's throw away-this is the spot, as they say. All I need is to conquer it. A slow cook boils the frog before he knows to jump out of the pot, and this book will take a while to gain as it is. But when the time is ripe, we shall strike."


	13. Trouble in the Middle East

The earth was tired. It had seen the brutal sun and the cold, soulless moon perform their celestial dance for time immemorial. Much blood had been spilt, and little water drawn, from its depths. This was the land were it began, and will end. Man first came here from a garden, into a desert. By his labor, he transformed it into a fertile land rich in life. And then, in his wickedness, man let the desert take it back.

The dust, dust tread upon and breathed by warriors and poets, prophets and priests, dust that had claimed them all in time, save one, clung to the city, a reminder of the futility of effort, and the ever-nearer doom that awaited them all. It hung in the air. It sullied the water, bringing with each live-giving sip the sharp reminder that death each drop only delayed death.

In this place of death and stone, where buildings and people seem as dead and as ancient as the hills, the sun was setting, collapsing with weariness beyond the vast horizon. The air bore a pheromone-hint of finality, as if the sun was setting forever.

"_Allāhu Akbar!"_

("Allah is the greatest")

"_Allāhu Akbar-!" _

The call came twice more; long, warbling, haunting. A primal call, a cry to God in a godless land.

"_Ash-hadu allā ilāha illallāh!"_

("I bear witness that there is no god but Allah!")

"_Hayya 'alas-salāt!"_

("Make haste to pray!")

The faithful made haste indeed. Across the city, they merchants and workers ceased their toiling upon hearing _Adhan_. Following the call of the _muezzin_, they knelt upon their prayer mats, facing the south.

Bashar bin Osmar watched from the shadows, dark eyes gleaming like insect shells.

"Allāhu Akbar"

That night, a worship of a different sort was witnessed. In the open plain, far from the city lights, they gathered around a vast bonfire. Bashar stood at the podium, a hellish figure before the fire.

"I come to you, my brothers and my sisters, with a message of hope, delivered from the lips of the Great One himself!"

"Who are you to claim the title of 'prophet'," a voice called out.

"I am Bashar bin Osmar of Jerusalem. I come to you to free you all, from pain, from, death…from the idiocy that is Islam!"

The crowd reacted with predictable ire.

"Heretic!"

"Apostate! Blasphemer!"

"Why should we listen to this lunatic!"

"I will show you why!"

The crowd became quiet, his voice having filled many with fear. He stepped down from his platform and into the crowd. The people parted for him, as the sea for Moses of old, as he strode with all the focus of a tightrope walker. He came at last to a Bedouin in full desert outfit, his AK-47 hanging from his shoulder.

"Shoot me," he growled.

The man stared at him.

"I have offended the prophet, I have blasphemed Allah, shoot me. None will miss me, none shall punish you."

The man pursed his lips and looked away, deep in thought.

Bashar drew a knife. The man fired a burst from his Kalashnikov. Bashar fell to the group, bleeding. The man stood still, in shocked silence, while the others, whispering fiercely, crowed around the body, staring in amazement.

He groaned, prompting a shriek from one of the women in the crowd. He stood up, eyes black and bulging in their sockets.

"He must be wearing armor of some sort," a young boy in the crowd whispered to his friend beside him.

"Armor? Someone thinks I survived armor! But lo," and he pulled of his robe, revealing his bare chest, still marked with several red, bleeding wounds. The crowd gasped. Bashar grinned, and pulled a bullet from his chest and held it aloft.

"Behold! I have the secret to life eternal! I have drunk of the blood of Shaitan, and thus, I cannot die!"

He grunted, and the remaining bullets oozed from their wounds, falling into the dust. He walked around to his podium.

"Allah is neither great nor compassionate! If he were so, he would prevent those that pleased him with life, and yet the faithful fall by the hundreds in battle against the infidel! Yet here I stand, shot with fifteen bullets at point-blank, and yet I live and feel no pain! Such is the power of the Father Below! He cares for man, strives each day to liberate every man, woman, and child from the darkness of ignorance, and yet your prophet Muhammad calls him 'evil' and 'adversary'. But I ask you now, what has God done for either of you? You," he said, pointing to one man in the back of the mob, "Did he prevent your father's death? Did your desperate prayers prompt Allah, omnipotent and all-loving, to spare his life? No! Or you! You lost your wife because she was unfaithful, and yet you were ever faithful and loving to her! A caring god permits that?"

He paused, letting the crowd process his words. _At the very least, those two now doubt. Let their family and friends speak with them, and doubt shall spread to them, too._

"The blood of the vampire is the water of life eternal. Drink of it, and you shall be as I am, undying, invincible, and open to all the mysterious of the world."

He surveyed the crowd, no longer filled with righteous indignation, but fear, and curiosity.

"In one month, I shall return. Those who choose to drink of my blood will gain the gift of eternal life._ Lā ilāha Shaitan_."


	14. Attack on the Vatican

It was a hot, muggy evening in Rome. The sky was grey and heavy, the thick, grim clouds seeming to trap the heat to the city. Fr. Davies decided to skip dinner and say his evening rosary instead.

"Too bloody hot today, eh Bernedino?" he asked as he passed his fellow priest on the way to his study.

"Hot as hell. They ought to repair the air conditioning. Can hardly stand it," he answered.

"Amen to that. Goodnight, Fr. Bernie."

"Goodnight, John."

Father Davies reached his room. He closed the door and knelt by his bedside. He let his mind fade away in the peaceful repetition of prayer. The feel of the rosary beads between his thumb and index finger the only thing keeping count for him. He heard the distant wail of police sirens. _Add them to my prayers…whoever they are_

It was about a decade and a half later that Fr. Davies noticed something was wrong. The sirens had faded. At first he thought that whatever emergency there had been was resolved. Then he heard the gunfire. And explosions.

"God above…"

He crossed himself quickly, putting his prayer "on hold" and rushed to the window. He saw in the distance the orange glow of fire. Automatic gunfire rattled sporadically. Then came a brilliant flash and deafening roar that brought the priest to his knees, hands over his ears. He opened his eyes, and saw that he was surrounded by broken glass. He looked up over the window's edge and saw an enormous hole had been blasted in the wall of St. Peter's square. A mass of people, like tiny ants in the distance, came pouring in through the gap.

"My God!" he cried, and he ran from the room. His rosary that he had begun that day was to never be finished.

Pope Benedict looked out at St. Peter's square. The Vatican City was surrounded by flames. He leaned on his papal staff, shaking with grief.

The doors to his chamber opened, and Father Davies rushed in, flanked by several Swiss Guards.

"Your Holiness…"

"I never thought that I would see this happen. Davies…why is this happening?"

"Your Holiness…we are under attack by an army of ghouls and vampires."

The aging pontiff slumped in his chair by his desk. "Vampires…"

"Your Holiness," whispered one of the guards, a captain from Zurich, "We must hurry. There is a helicopter waiting on the roof. We can have you at the airstrip in Sardinia within an hour."

"No," he said, standing, "I will not abandon the city. I will not flee from the agents of Satan. Rally what Swiss Guards remain, and fight to the death. Rolf, hand me a pistol."

The Swiss captain was blinked, then, after a brief hesitation, complied. The Pope took the pistol in his hands, turning it over and studying it.

"You thought I was crazy for ordering that all bullets either be blessed or made of silver…heh. Let's see…that's the trigger, that's the safety?"

"The magazine release, Your Holiness."

"Right, there's the safety…"

Father Davies pulled Pope Benedict aside and whispered.

"Your Holiness, it is not you that they are after. It's…," he paused, biting his lip.

"The what, Father Davies?"

The priest paused, struggling to produce the words.

"The _Necronomicon_."

The former cardinal's eyes narrowed.

"How do you know?"

"I found a letter pinned to the _inside_ of my chamber door, in his handwriting and bearing the seal of the defunct Iscariot Organization this morning. It said that an attack would come, but it did not say that it would be today."

"And why did you not tell me this sooner?"

"Because it said that I would only be permitted to do so if I asked you to pardon Yumiko Takagi and Heinkel Wulfe of all past activities with the Iscariot Organization."

Pope Benedict struggled over to the window. The Swiss Guards, though well-trained and extremely loyal, were no match for the thousands of vampires spilling into the central square.

"I grant them my pardon."

"Thank you."

The Pope, Father Davies, and the Swiss Guards all spun around. Yumie and Heinkel were waiting in the hall.

"Your Holines," the German assassin began. The Swiss guards readied their MP-5's, but the Pope gestured to them to stand down.

"Miss Vulfe?"

"You won't make it to your helicopter. There are over a dozen vampires on the roof; you and your guards would be slaughtered. Ve, however, would be adequate protection for you. Furthermore, you are not the main target. The _Necronomicon_, stored deep vithin the archives, is. Father Davies, if you were to take zese Sviss guards down zere und retrieve ze book, ve vill vait on ze roof in ze chopper. Ve vill give you fifteen minutes-after zat, ve fly. You Holiness, zis vay."

The Vatican Archives is one of the most extensive collections of documents in the entire world. No other depository contains a more complete, and inclusive view of the history of the western world, and few are as secretive. The contents of the archives have never been made public, and access to them is granted under greatest scrutiny and supervision. Scholars requesting a document must know the exact title of the document, and are only permitted to study it under supervision.

Many rumors and conspiracy theories have arisen stating that terrible secrets are kept within the Vatican Archives. Theorists have alleged that the body of Jesus, genetic experiments, alien technology, and a really smashing recipe for persimmon cookies that your grandmother never wrote down and refused to tell you on her deathbed, lie hidden within the vaults. But few even dreamed what the true dark secret was.

The _Necronomicon_, whose name, depending on its translation, could be "The Book of the Dead", "The Image of the Dead", or "The Book of the Law of the Dead", was gained by the Church in the second century, was lost sometime during the Renaissance, and regained during the Spanish Inquisition. Bound in human flesh, and inked in human blood, the book was rumored to be written by the hand of the Devil himself. An arcane and impenetrably complex and vague work, it contained lengthy epic poems of demonic monsters and wicked rulers, instructions for rituals, and spells written in Aramaic, Sumerian, Sanskrit, and a language that no scholar had been able to decipher, which was dubbed "The language of Hell itself."

Father Davies led the dozen Swiss Guards down the darkened corridors by torchlight.

"Buggers must have cut the electricity. Hurry men! We must get to it!"

"Get to what!"

"The true satanic bible, for all the writings within it are the works of men and women possessed by the Fallen Angel Lucifer. If they get a hold of it, God only knows what havoc they'll wreak upon the earth."

"Is he serious?"

"Cut the chatter!"

Yumie threw open the roof hatch. A vampire stood right before her. It wheeled about to attack her, but was cut down with burst from Heinkel's pistols. Yumie climbed onto the roof. Twelve vampires stood waiting by the helicopter, sporting carbines freshly taken from dead Swiss Guards, and they immediatly opened fire at Heinkel and Yumie. Heinkel raised her twin pistols and fired, immediately killed two vampires.

Yumiko took off her glasses, folded them, and placed them in her pocket. She pulled off her habit, and grinned.

"_Shimabara Battouryuu."_

Her katana flashed from it's scabbard. In a blur of speed she raced towards the vampires. Two vampire's screamed as their torsos and legs separated in a spray of blood. Yumie swung, taking the top of another vampire's head clean off. Another turned to shoot her, and was brought down by a burst of bullets from Heinkel. Yumie shoved it aside and stabbed another through the heart. She pulled out, swinging her sword and slashing another across the throat. The vampire doubled over gasping, and Yumie severed its head with a clean stroke. She redirected the momentum of the swing to the right, cutting the leg out from yet another vampire. Heinkel squeezed several rounds into its torso while Yumie chopped of another's hand. The vampire tried to fire at Yumie, but she knocked the gun away with a kick. The raised her katana and sliced downward to sever the vampire's arm. The vampire side-stepped her attack and aimed its machine pistol at her back. Heinkel screamed and fired at him with both pistols, riddling him with blessed bullets. The vampire staggered backwards, fell into the open helicopter, and crumbled into ashes. Yumie stabbed forward and up, her blade catching a vampire in the crotch as it turned to face her.

"Ayeeee," it screamed in pain. Yumie grinned viciously and twisted the blade slightly. The other remaining vampire turned to shoot Yumie. Yumie pulled her blade out of the vampire's groin and swung at the vampire's gun just as it pulled the trigger. It fired a single shot, having unknowingly left its carbine in semi-automatic. Yumie's katana met the bullet and cleaved it in two, the shards flying off and away. The razor-sharp blade continued onwards, cutting the top off of the MP-5. The vampire stepped back in shock, and was mowed down by Heinkel's gunfire. The last vampire pointed its weapon at Yumie and roared. It fired a burst of automatic fire. Yumie leapt over the stream of bullets, over the vampire's head, and landed on all fours. The vampire spun around to shoot her, then stopped, a look of pain and puzzlement upon its countenance. It dropped its gun and fell to the side, its head coming free of its body.

Heinkel popped fresh clips into each pistol.

"It is all clear, Father."

Pope Benedict poked his head out from the roof hatch. He climbed out, pointing his pistol willy-nilly with shaking hands.

"It is alright, your Holiness. Let us go."

A vampire crawled over the ledge of the roof.

"It's him! The fat prophet of lies!"

The Pope jumped. A group of vampires had climbed over the edge of the building. One of the vampires pointed at him, red eyes luminous in the twilight.

"Ali, our comrades are in need of our assistance! The Italian police have arrived! They need to be held back long enough for Bashar to find the book!"

"I'll be a hero back in Gaza for killing you, kraut," the first vampire growled. Heinkel raised her two pistols. The vampire took a step backwards.

"Ali, we were told to leave him be! Bashar's orders-!"

"To hell with Bashar! I'm doing this for all the faithful killed by your infidel crusaders throughout the centuries."

The vampire dashed forward. Heinkel fired at him, but the vampire was too quick, reaching them in seconds, knocking Heinkel and Yumiko aside and grabbing the Pope by the throat.

A band of light flashed between the vampire and Benedict, and then, in a spray of blood, the vampire's hand dropped from his body. The vampire collapsed, grabbing his mutilated stump and screaming. Yumiko stood with her katana drawn, her face flecked with blood. The light from the distant fires gleamed in her eyes.

Heinkel set her foot on the vampire's throat. She pointed her 9mm at his face.

"Those who anger vasps are stung; those who anger us Deutschlanders are crushed!"

She shot the vampire in the forehead.

The other vampires remained silent and still at the edge of the roof. One stood and yelled,

"Allahu akbar!"

The vampires charged.

"Your Holiness, in the chopper."

_I am Yumie, hear me roar!_

A vampire fell within Yumie's reach. In a flash of steel, the vampire was on the ground, his legs lying several feet from his body. Anderson released a seeming hail of knives, leaving several vampires crumpled wrecks upon the ground, their bleeding forms resembling gory pincushions. A vampire rushed at Yumie. She raised her katana and brought it down to the roof, leaving a gash in the tiles. The vampire stopped. A red line appeared down his body. Blood began to seep through his shirt. His body had been split in half down the middle. The two sides slipped apart and landed with a sickening squishy splatter.

Heinkel and the Pope climbed into the helicopter. Heinkel saw the two pilot's bodies.

"Ve need to get them out of here. They vill become ghouls."

"What?"

As if in response to his question, one of the pilots' corpses sprang to life and grabbed at his robes. Heinkel squeezed three shots into its head, killing it. The second pilot reanimated and threw itself at her, pinning her to the chopper's wall. Heinkel wriggled and twisted in its grasp, trying to escape its snapping jaws and place a shot in its head. She threw off its hands and twisted around, pistol raised. The ghoul shuddered and crumbled into ashes. Heinkel hadn't fired, but she had heard a shot. She looked at the Pope, who was clutching the pistol he'd taken from the Swiss Guard.

"Good shot, Holy Father."

They came to a great steal door. Handing his torch to the captain, Davies fumbled with a crowded keychain, then, finding the proper key, inserted it in the lock and turned it.

"Combination…1…3…16…," he said as he carefully turned the dial. He heard a hopeful click. He spun the heavy deadbolt release, and heaved open the vault door. He took back the torch, and led them down a row of strange artifacts. The young guards barely had time to gaze in fascination and disgust at what they saw lining the walls. Jars filed with organs and severed heads, dusty volumes of forgotten lore (Time-Life editions), and what one guard was certain was a rusted spearhead, when Father Davies called out.

"Aha," he cried as he hefted an enormous, grey book.

"That's it?" the captain asked."

"Sure is," spoke a voice from the shadows.

Bashar bin Osmar stepped into the torchlight, flanked by several grinning vampires.

"Kill him! Don't let him take the book!"

The guards opened fire. Their shots hit a few vampires, but the Undead fiends were too quick, leaping over their shots and right into the guardsmen. Fang and claws shredded soft flesh. One guardsman was lifted up and thrown screaming into the shelves. Bashar reached Father Davies and grabbed the book. Davies took the crucifix from his neck and stabbed the vampire in the hand. The crucifix began to sear through his skin. Bashar screamed in pain, and then smashed the priest's face with his fist. Davies was thrown backwards, and crumpled into a heap on the floor.

Bashar held the tome aloft, triumphantly.

"We have it! Let us leave!"

Heinkel had managed to figure out the helicopter's control's. With a some difficulty, she managed to get the chopper airborne

"Look, they're retreating!"

In St. Peter's Square, the Italian Police and the Swiss Guard began to cheer.

"We've won!"

"Take that you devils!"

"_Christum Regnat, Christum Vincit, Christum Imperat!_"

"This isn't good," Yumiko whispered.

"Nein, not guut at all," Heinkel chimed.

"Your Holiness, I'll bring us down. It looks as zough the threat has passed."

"But, didn't they intend to assassinate me?"

Heinkel frowned.

"Not for a vile. Zheir goal vas the book. And I fear zey got it."

Note: Yes, Anderson had to go-Kouta kills him off during the Millenium attack on London in the Manga, and, for all "Hellsing" related characters and backstories, I am using as canon all manga published as of my writing, and all episodes of the original that are not in conflict with the manga (i.e. the first couple episodes, the Valentine attack on the Hellsing compound, any 'side episodes', and all those w/o Incognito). Btw, for those who know both "Simpsons" and "Hellsing", remember in the Simpsons episode "Fear of Flying", after Homer gets kicked out of Moe's this guy comes into the bar who looks just like Homer, only in a suit and top hat and mustache. Moe thinks it's Homer and tells him to leave, and he replies in a very funny voice "Homer? Who is Ho-mer? I am Guy Incognito!" I just thought about that scene while watching the "Hellsing" episodes with Incognito…and remembered how much more entertained I was watching that episode.

-Fionn


	15. Fool's Paradise

Fool's Paradise in a Moon Age Daydream

It was late in the afternoon, the time when the sun paints the houses with gold, and the promise of the night to come waits on the threshold of twilight. Evergreen Terrace-a street that someone once said "smells like cat pee", was alive and loud with the sounds and motions and colors of humanity. It was the Fourth of July, Independence Day, the day when Americans celebrate their civil liberties and economic freedom by getting drunk and blowing things up.

The residents of Evergreen Terrace had organized a block party, and on every lawn, all up and down the street, tables and tailgates were packed with food, drink, and explosive devices of varying legality…and potential lethality. Already the air was filled with smoke from barbeques and fireworks, and most of the adults were already quite filled with alcohol, and yet the real partying was only just beginning.

Kids laughed and ran about in the warm evening sunshine. Groups of young boys chased the neighborhood dogs; a more sadistic bunch actually tried to tie a string of firecrackers to Mrs. Taggard's dog, but decided not to after the German Shepherd bit one of them, ending his Fourth of July celebration with a trip to the ER.

Santa's Little Helper, the oldest dog on the street that did not flee from the sound of children's voices. Old, half-blind and three-quarters deaf, with a game leg, SLH sat on the Simpson's porch, oblivious to all torments and taunting. The older kids left, deciding that the old dog wasn't going to provide them any sport, while several toddlers remaining, tugging on the ever-patient greyhound's ears and tail, while all Santa's Little Helper did was sigh with resignation.

At 742 Evergreen Terrace, Homer Simpson poured copious amounts of lighter fluid into the barbeque. Indoors, Brian had just entered the kitchen totting a ceramic bowl and several bags of groceries.

"Hey everybody!"

Lisa was preparing a salad with the help of Eric and his friend Felicia. Bart, Millhouse, and Nelson sat at the table, the three of whom enjoying their second, first, and fifth beers of the day, respectively, while Marge was busy with the oven, checking on her apple pies.

"Brian!"

"Hey!"

"Happy Fourth of July!"

"Woo," he responded enthusiastically.

"Woo," Bart yelled, waving his bottle of Duff Dry, "USA! USA! USA!" He ran out the room, shouting.

"Okay," Brian said, puzzled.

"Don't mind him. Fourth of July was always one of his favorite holidays," Lisa explained.

"Let me guess-explosions?"

"Bingo!"

Millhouse chuckled.

"Ha," Nelson sighed, "All this time of year means for me is blown off fingers and jerks shootin' guns in the air-which isn't safe, you know, as the bullets return to earth with more or less the same energy they had leaving the muzzle."

"Wow, Nelson, I'm impressed," Brian said.

Nelson looked angered.

"What? Because I know somethin'? I'm not a total idiot, you know. And wearin' that .45 out on your hip like that counts as 'brandishing a deadly weapon'."

Brian looked at the revolver on his hip and grinned unabashedly.

"I won't bother citin' ya for it. I got too damn much paperwork with all these yahoos an' their illegal fireworks anyways."

"I heard that Fat Tony's men are responsible for all the illegal fireworks pouring into town," Millhouse said.

"Could be," Nelson said, rising with his open beer in one hand, case of beers in the other, "Anyway, I better get back to work. They got me workin' graveyard tonight. See ya Lis', Van Houten. Mrs. Simpson, ma'am."

"Good night, Officer Muntz. I'll be sure to save you a slice of pie."

"Gee thanks."

"Happy Fourth of July, Nelson," Lisa said with a friendly smile.

"Thanks. Callahan, nice seein' ya."

"Bye, Nelson."

Millhouse chugged the last of his beer.

"I'm gonna make sure Bart doesn't try to pass off any more of those modified piccolo petes. Mrs. Glick nearly had a heart attack when one landed in her succotash."

"What've you got, Brian," Lisa asked.

"Fruit salad with cognac dressing. Oh, and I've brought a little something to spice up the burgers. Here, Eric, Felicia, would you mind helping me with the garlic and onions? I'll handle the celery. Marge, you already bought the ground beef, right?"

"Yes." She looked over her shoulder at the packs of meat on the counter.

"Alright, let's get to work. Um, Lisa, dear, where are the knives? Ah."

After the vegetables were prepared to Brian's specifications he removed the remaining ingredients from the bags. Only one bag remained full. Eric tried to take a peek at what was in it, but was stopped by Brian.

"Ah-hah! No, sorry, that's a special surprise for your sister Lisa. Alright," he said, with the focus and enthusiasm of a thoroughly-coked cooking show host, "We've got the lean ground beef, the kosher sea salt, the fresh ground pepper, chopped celery, minced garlic, finely chopped onions, Worcestershire sauce, and some Bushmill's Irish whiskey. Sweet-sweet whiskey…"

He unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle and took a long swig. Marge and Lisa watched, concernedly.

"Mmm. Anyway, you take the ground beef, and mush it all together in a bowl. Add a bit of salt, a bit pepper. Okay, now, a little bit of the veggies. You don't want to add too much, or they'll drown out the flavor, plus, I'm saving them for something later."

You see," he said, lowering his voice dramatically, forcing the others to lean in slightly, "The key with anything that you add to a meat dish is to bring out the flavor, not to cover it up."

He added a splash of Worcestershire sauce, and another sprinkling of pepper. He mixed the ingredients together, then pulled a portion of it loose and flattened it into a patty.

"Oh, Marge, platter, please!"

Marge turned around and removed a large serving platter from the cupboard.

"Thank you."

Brian divided all the meat into patties, then handed the platter to Eric.

"Here you go, Eric, my good man. Take this out to your father."

Eric and Felicia walked out of the room. Marge went rummaging through the silverware drawer, then lifted up a pair of tongs.

"Oh no, Homie forgot his food grabber! He won't be able to grab hot dogs without it! He'll just end up burning his hands. She rushed outside.

Brian washed his hands, then rinsed out the bowl.

"What was that surprise you hand for me," Lisa asked, grinning.

Brian smiled, and went over to the bag on the counter. He removed a small pack labeled "imitation hamburger meat-tofu based! 'Vegetarian friendly!'". Lisa gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"You're too much, Brian."

Brian leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Whatever he said prompted Lisa to throw her arms around him and kiss him, making him drop the tofutti and hold her tight to him while they kissed.

Marge walked in and saw them, dropping her platter. The noise caused the two to jump apart immediately. Marge had her hand on her chest, and was trying not to scream or hyperventilate.

"Mom!"

"Uh…hi! Uh, here's the platter…uh…I'll just…step outside…yeah…"

They waited for a few awkward, silent minutes after she left before speaking.

"Well, you were going to show me your secret for fantastic tofu burgers?"

"Right! Right! Yes, um…to work then…"

Millhouse found Bart at the end of the street. He was standing with Mac, Richard, Lewis, Wendell, and Martin next to a large mess of speakers and a turntable. Otto was sitting at the table, humming to himself and searching through a disheveled collection of LP's, CD's, and even the odd eight track.

"Hey, Bart. Hey guys!"

"Oh, hey! Millhouse!"

"Hey!"

"Millhouse, old chum! Long time, no see!"

"Hey, Martin. Hey, Bart, what's all this?"

"Well, I felt that it'd be stupid playing music on my CD player, so Mac and I got Otto to haul this stuff over from the radio station."

"Are you certain that this won't get you into trouble at work?" Martin asked.

"Nah. Might piss Jess off a bit, but she's not the boss of me."

Otto held up a bright red and yellow record sleeve depicting a several skeletons at a part.

" 'Oingo Boingo'? Man, the name alone's a trip! 'Dead Man's Party'! This the one, Bart dude?"

"You betcha. Side two, third track."

"Okay!"

The opening guitar riffs blared across the neighborhood. The horns added the distinctly _Boingo _sound.

"_Now that we've found this precious place . . . .  
How do we keep from going crazy now?  
My life was leading to this day  
Watching the whole thing slip away  
It's just a fool's paradise  
It's just a fool's paradise  
It's just a fool's paradise anyhow…"_

A few kids started dancing. Brian and Lisa joined in.

"Yeah, that's it!" Otto yelled as he bobbed his head and played air guitar.

Bart wove his way threw the crowd.

"Hey, Bart! Thanks for the tunes! This one takes me back," Leonardo 'Legs' Giambi yelled from his lawn. "Reminds me of the good old days, selling coke to rich yuppies in L.A. and rollin' crackheads for spare change. Hey," he tossed Bart a beer to Bart and each of his friends, "On the house!"

Bart and his pals walked along the street, sampling the food.

"Hello, Little Mister Simpson!" Apu called from his table, "May I interest you in some curry? I have dyed it red, white and blue, in honor of the birthday of my beloved adopted country!"

"Nah, no thanks, Apu. How's it going?"

"Everything is going relatively well. I have been held up with unusual frequency in the last month, however."

"That so? Snake must be having trouble makin' ends meet."

"That is the thing that which is funny. Mr. Jailbird has not been doing most of the robbing," Apu paused, stroking the scruffy beard he had begun growing in recent years, "Come to think of it, the people robbing my store seem more intent on killing me than taking anything involved. Could it be that a place open all night long and contains alcohol, cigarettes, and sickening quantities of pornographic magazines would attract homicidal maniacs?"

"Well, you never know, do ya? Catch ya latter, 'pu."

As Bart and his gang continued through the crowd, "Bad Moon Risin'" playing in the background, a girl bumped into him, spilling beer on his shirt.

"Hey! Watch it, chick!"

"You were the one who-hey, Bart!"

"Hey. S'up, Gina?"

"Oh nothin'. Nice little party."

"Thanks."

"…_hope you are quite prepared to die…"_

"So, you come here with anyone?"

Bart's friend's slowly dispersed, grinning, some punching him lightly in the shoulder.

"_looks like we're in for nasty weather…"_

"No, just hangin' out. Why?"

"Oh, I dunno…I thought maybe we could, you know…hang out together? You know, get a drink, share one of my dad's burgers, maybe, you know, go someplace else…"

"Are you asking me out or not, Simpson?"

"…yeah," he said nervously. He cringed, fearing she'd punch him.

"Good call."

"Wha-?"

"Come on, pipsqueak. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

She grabbed him by the wrist and drug him off.

"Tell my siblings they can't have any of my stuff!" he yelled to his friends.

Jessica Lovejoy arrived at the block party just at that moment. She had come to see what Bart and Mac had done with the equipment they used for live, on-location shows, and to make certain that he hadn't damaged it by transporting it on top of his Camero. She had parked her car up the street, and was walking along the old, familiar street. It was then that she saw Bart and Gina getting into the same car. And she saw how Gina was looking at him.

_If I can't have him, no one can! I'm Jessica Lovejoy! I've been on the cover of Oggle, damnit!_

As night fell and the partygoers finished their food, the fireworks display began in earnest. There were the usual fountains and sparklers and screamers, but, thanks to the Solazzo Brothers Olive Oil Co., there was also a full-scale professional fireworks show, courtesy of "The many generous victims of my extensive racketeering," as Fat Tony explained to Homer as he stopped by the house for a chat and slice of pie.

Brian and Lisa watched the fireworks from the roof of the Simpson house.

"When I was a boy, we lived on a house on the top of a hill overlooking the city. We could watch at the fireworks in town and never pay a cent for them."

Lisa leaned her head on Brian's shoulder.

"Brian…"

"Hmm?"

"What about us?"

Brian was confused and somewhat frightened by her question.

"What do you mean?"

Lisa sat up, and looked at his face intently.

"I mean…what are we, as, as a couple? I mean, are we going to be locked in a distant yet intensely emotionally involved relationship forever? Are we going to go further? I-"

Brian kissed her. She was shocked at first, then, slowly, began to kiss back. He pulled away, setting one finger on her lips.

"That's my answer," he whispered, "Religion, politics, vegetarianism, jazz…none of those things matter. I'd listen to Kevin Federline's CD exclusively and eat nothing by granola and a thin paste made from rootmarm if it meant that I could see you for just an hour each year. I want this, us, to go on, forever."

"Me too. You and I, always young, always summer, the moon always full, and the sky filled with countless stars."

Brian brushed some of her hair aside, and looked at her eyes.

"No two stars ever shone so brightly as these."

In the distance, David Bowie's "Moonage Daydream" began to play. Lisa slipped her hand under Brian's. She kissed him. She leant back, and he over her, the kiss never broken.

"Let's go inside. My old room."

They snuck in through the open window. Brian started to close it, but Lisa told him to leave it open. She closed the door. Back to Brian, she pulled off her shirt. She looked at him over her shoulder, pulling down on of the straps of her brassiere. Brian walked over to her and kissed her. She gently pulled him over to the bed. The kissed, kissed with the force of a hundred dreams, with the weight of years of bitter loneliness. Felt her body rise, her back arching. He looked at her face. A single tear welled in her left eye, then ran down her cheek. She sighed, her breast heaving under the weight of it. She laughed softly. She tugged at the edge of his t-shirt. He pulled it off, and began to undue his belt. He leaned to kiss her, but was shoved away. He looked at her, frightened that he had done something wrong.

There was a distant look in her eyes, as though her eyes were somewhere else.

Brian realized that something wrong was happening. He noticed that the music had stopped. The street was silent. Silent, and then, silent, silent but for the screaming.

"Oh God!"

"Brian! Vampires!"


	16. Darkness Gathers

Lisa quickly pulled her shirt back on. Brian picked up his revolver.

"Lis', do you have your pistol?"

"No."

"Where is it?"

"Back in the apartment."

Brian pulled up his right pant leg, revealing a small pistol in a slim, leather holster.

"Here. It's a family heirloom, take care of it."

Lisa looked at the tiny pistol. _'Mauser-Werke A.G. Oberndorf a.N. Mod. HSc Kal 7.65mm' _..._and that's...a swastika?_

"Brian, where'd you get this gun? 7.62mm…that's thirty-two hundredths of an inch…"

"Yeah. My granddad brought it back from Europe, scavenged it off the body of a dead officer at Buchenwald. It's a .32, so you should be able to handle it."

He looked out the window. People were running down the street, screaming in terror. A pack of wolves were tearing an old woman to shreds.

"Shit! Werewolves. Alright, Lisa, I'm going down there. Cover me from the window."

"No way, Brian. ACPs don't have the trajectory for long-range coverage, expecially a .32. And there's no way I'm shooting that handcannon of yours."

"Fine. I'll cover you from up here. But if I think you're in trouble, I'm coming down there."

"You don't have to act stupid to prove anything. If I'm killed, there'll be no reason for you to get killed too."

He frowned, then, sighed heavily and nodded.

"Here," he said, and he up his other pant leg to reveal a small magazine taped to his calf. He handed it to here. "Thing only holds eight rounds."

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, then ran out of the room.

Brian looked out the window. Several small fires burned in the street. Gun fire sounded sporadically. _Marge and Homer are out there…so are Millhouse and Bart. That's probably them, there, behind the car. I hope Eric's not hurt._

He saw someone standing on the Wiggum's front lawn, at the very end of the street. Chief Wiggum's car had caught fire, and Brian could see the fire in the figure's outline as though he were made of glass.

_There's one_.

Brian cocked back the hammer. He closed one eye and took aim, squinting in the darkness. _I'll have to angle this one just right…damnit! Stay still! Thataboy…shoot just above…the head…_ He fired. He kept watching down the top of his revolver. The vampire stood still as a frightened deer. Brian was just beginning to think that he had missed when the vampire collapsed. Brian sighed. He looked down and saw Lisa running to the street from the backyard. She stopped, turned, and fired at a pursuing attacker. Brian craned his neck out of the window and saw three werewolves. He fired, killing one. Lisa managed to dispatch the rest.

Brian waved at her. She shoved the second magazine in, dropping the spent one.

"Keep that clip! It's hard to find more of those!" he yelled.

Just as he finished speaking, a burst of automatic rifle fire stroke the window frame. Brian threw himself backwards as splinters of wood flew at his face.

_Crap! They've got guns. We're screwed!_

He carefully peeked over the edge of the window sill. He looked around, trying to see in the dim moonlight. Another volley of shots fired, going over his head and impacting on the wall. He ducked down again.

Outside, the vampire ejected the spent clip from his rifle. He and three lycanthropes were hiding behind the Flanders' fence. The remaining Undead had surrounded Homer, Marge, and Lisa, trapping them between three overturned cars in the middle of the street and holding them in place with gunfire from all sides.

"Stupid human," he snarled. He looked at the three werewolves waiting beside him "You three, go in and take care of him!"

The three werewolves tore off their clothes, snarling and metamorphosizing into wolves. They bound up the Simpsons' lawn towards the front door. Santa's Little Helper, who had remained on the porch throughout the entire catastrophe, growled and arched his back. The lead lycanthrope, the alpha wolf, stood up on his hind legs and roared. Santa's Little Helper promptly wet himself, and sprinted off the porch like a frightened rabbit. The werewolves chortled throatily. The lead wolf reached for the door. He stopped, seeing the doorknob already turning on it's own. He took a step back, growling and lowering his ears. The door swung open slowly, creaking on its poorly-maintained hinges (in the nearly twenty years he had lived there, Homer never oiled them).

The wolves sniffed, trying to discern the source of the strange, sulfurous odor that wafted from the open door. They squinted, but, despite their lupine eyes, could not see through the darnkness inside.

Two eyes appeared in the darkness, and then, a Cheshire Cat grin. The lead wolf growled and bared his teethed, while the other two cowered behind him, their tails tucked between their legs. A red-sleeved arm shot from the shadows. At the end of it gleamed an enormous silver pistol. One of the eyes winked, while a long, pink tongue stuck out from the grinning mouth. The pistol went off. The sound of the shot was earsplitting, even for Lisa in her makeshift barricade down the street, and positively deafening for Brian in the room above. The two beta wolves tried to flee, but the pistol fired twice more, and the two silver bullets both struck true. A second arm with a second gun-larger, cast in a strange, black alloy-appeared in the moonlight. Three shots were fired at the fence, blasting enormous, jagged holes. The vampire behind the fence screamed and ran into the street.

Alucard stepped forth from the Simpsons' house. He leered at retreating vampire.

"Coward," he hissed. He fired from his black pistol, and traced the bullet with his eyes

as it sped towards it's target at three thousand feet a second. In a matter of microseconds, the bullet had reached the vampire, crushing flesh and shattering bone as ripped through his left breast. The vampire barely could scream in pain before he crumbled into dust.

Down the street, Marge, Lisa, and Homer were in dire straits. Not only were they surrounded on all sides and armed only pistols, but they were desperately short on ammo. Lisa had long run out of her .32's, and Homer had used up his spare ammo as well, forcing him to use Marge's .38 Specials in his .357.

"Well Marge, you can't say we don't have excitement in our lives!"

"Shut-up and shoot, Homer!"

Lisa heard a faint whistling. She didn't know what it was but sensed that it was bad and that she had just fraction of a second to determine it's nature.

"Get down!"

Lisa pulled her parents down between the three cars. The ground shook and she heard an explosion that made her think her eardrums had ruptured. The cars jumped off the pavement and nearly rolled over her. Something grabbed her by the waist and pulled her from harm's way. She blinked, saw two red eyes, and then she was on her front lawn with her mother and father.

"Lisa!"

Brian ran out the front door and embraced her.

"Brian, what's happening?"

"The cavalry has arrived!"

On the other end of the street, the Wiggums watched from their bedroom window.

"Daddy, I'm scared! I wish I still wore diapers!" Ralph whimpered.

"Right now I'm wishin' the same thing, Ralphie."

There was a bright light, and windows rattled.

"What the hey?"

Something leapt down from the roof.

"What was that? What was that?" Chief Wiggum squeeled.

"Shh!"

The vampires on the front lawn stood stunned as their fellows down the street were incinerated by the massive explosion. One noticed a tap on his shoulder and turned, only to see Seras Victoria's fist coming at his face. The punch was so forceful that it collapsed his face and caused the back of his skull to split open, spewing blood, bone, and brain at the vampire standing in front of him.

"What the…!"

He felt a sharp pain and looked down to see a fist coming through the left side of his chest. He shuddered and crumbled into ash.

The other vampires screamed and leapt at Seras. With a vicious giggle, she sprouted claws from her hands and slashed at the nearest attacked. Her talons cut through the vampire's face. A vampiress snuck up behind her. The she-demon pounced, only to be caught in the nose by the back of Seras' hand.

"Wah! Uh…bhy…bhose!"

Seras tore through the vampires. She grabbed one by the back of the neck, driving her claws through the skin and grabbing the spinal column. With a sickening rip, she pulled the skull and spine up and away. She swung it overhead, then brought it down on the head of another vampire. The female vampire she'd struck had recovered and came at her with a kick. Seras grabbed her leg pulled it out of the socket. The vampire fell to the ground, screaming in agony. The other vampires turned and ran. Seras took the vampiress' leg and removed the femur. She broke it in half, then, holding the vampire to the ground with her foot, drove the sharp, splintered bone through her heart.

Alucard arrived at the Simpson's house.

"Nice shooting, vampire," Brian said.

Alucard didn't respond.

"You should have been better prepared for this. This was just a distraction from something bigger."

A car pulled up in front in front of the house. Bart and Gina hoped out.

"What happened?"

"You're late," Alucard spat.

"Hey, you try and navigate through Springfield on the Fourth. As it was I got a Piccolo Pete in one of my tires my tires and half-a-dozen bottle rockets in my grille," Gina snapped.

"Excuse me," Alucard answered with mock-sincerity.


	17. Birth

Birth

(please read note at end of chapter. Warning contains spoiler for "Hellsing")

Patty lay on the gurney, panting and whimpering. Three nurses rushed her along the corridor, with Selma and Ling trotting alongside.

"Patty…Patty…," Selma gasped, clutching her sister's hand, "You're going to be alright, Patty. Just breathe."

Patty sat up slightly, and gasped, "Please…kill me."

The nurses took Patty into the operating room. Selma sat and held Ling against herself, trying not to cry.

The Hunters marched into the hospital, led by Sideshow Bob, with Francesca at his right and Akira at his left.

A police officer, a new kid on the force named Billy, saw the armed group stomping through the ER.

"Hey," he called in a squeeky, cracking voice, "You guys can't be in with all those guns!"

Akira's hand flew out. A dart struck the young officer in the throat, just near the jugular.

"Ooh…down I go."

The policeman collapsed on the ground. The group marched on.

"That didn't kill him," Lisa asked with a nervous laugh, "Uh…right?"

"No," Akira answered, "He'll wake up in five hours with diarrhea and a killer headache."

"Eew."

They reached the charge nurse's counter.

"Where is Patty Bouvier?" Bob asked, staring at the nurse with his expressionless face and reflectorized glasses.

"I'm sorry, but that's confidential."

Francesca threw her pistol onto the counter, spun it around, then grabbed it. The laser dot pointed right at the nurse's stomach.

"I said, _'Where is Patty Bouvier'_?"

The woman gulped nervously, eyeing Francesca's pistol.

Then came the screaming.

"Ngyaaaaah!"

"Thank you," Bob said tersely.

They ran off down the hall.

They turned the corner, and saw Selma, Ling, and Carrie waiting outside the OR. Carrie saw Fr. Nell in the group, and she and Selma went to confront him.

"Get outta here, Irish! We don't need your-!"

"_Fermez-la, sallope!"_ Francesca spat in French.

Fr. Nell saw Ling standing by herself.

"Marge, take Ling, your sister, and this woman out of here."

Marge walked over to Selma and said something in hushed tones. She and Selma seemed to be having a whispered argument, then Selma called Ling over to herself and left with Marge.

"What the hell is going on here?" Carrie demanded.

Bob drew his katana.

"I'd leave now…if I were you."

Carrie looked at the bare sword with shocked disgust. The other's made their weapons visible as well, and the woman seemed to swoon with fright. Shaking her head, she ran off, screaming, "Crazy!"

Dr. Hibbert pulled on his surgical gloves.

"Easy," he cooed softly, "Nurse, anaethesia."

"Yes, doctor."

Patty writhed in pain, screaming and straining against the leather straps that had been fastened across her wrists and ankles. Foamy saliva gurgled from her mouth. A nurse used a suction hose to clear her mouth, then placed the gas mask over her face. Patty shrieked and tore loose from one of her restraints, grabbed the mask and ripped it out of the woman's hands.

"Nurse!"

"Hold her! She's starting to seize!"

Patty began to shake violent, chattering her teeth and arching her back. The Hunters burst in through the main door.

"Julius!" Bob yelled.

Doctor Hibbert looked at the newcomers. Patty let out an earsplitting shriek. Her stomach began to bulge visibly, then, in a shower of blood, her abdomen burst open. A small, vaguely human head protruded from the opening.

The creature was tiny, barely a foot tall. It was a vaguely human form, with long, skeletal arms ending in four extremely long, twiglike fingers tipped with curved claws. Its head was large, with disproportionately large black eyes. Its ears were large, pointed, protruding from the sides of its head. Its face had no nose or chin, just two slits for nostrils and a large mouth lined with needle fangs. Its skin was pale white except for where it was stained with Patty's blood. It seemed a terrible and ancient thing, white and sickly, like a troglydictal beast from dark prehistory that had been hiding in sunless cavern and cave pools for long centuries, waiting to thrust its presence upon man's unready psyche.

With a shrill, infant-like cry, the creature leapt upon one of the nurses, seizing her face with its enormous hands while its tiny mouth gnawed her throat. As the nurse began to fall to the ground, the thing pounced at Doctor Hibbert. A silver pistol extended over the doctor's shoulder, and fired. The creature was torn in half, and landed on the floor. Hibbert looked over his shoulder and saw Alucard's grinning face.

Patty sobbed quietly. Lisa went to her side.

"Aunt Patty…I…," she held her aunt's hand; words failed her.

Patty's eyes snapped wide open. She squeezed Lisa's hand tightly, driving her nails into her niece's hand. Lisa whimpered and struggled to break free. Patty threw her head back and screamed. The bleeding hole in her stomach began to gurgle. Another pale, fetal head emerged from the gore. A second creature crawled from the wound, followed by a third, fourth, fifth, and a sixth. Alucard looked at the floor, and saw that the creature his shot had torn in half was whole once more.

"Jesus Christ redeemer of man…" Fr. Sean gasped.

The things attacked. The first one leapt at Alucard once more, as did the second. Alucard laughed, and grabbed the first one in his hand, holding it in a crushing grip. As the second one sailed toward him in mid-air, Alucard drew his 13mm_ Jackal_, and fired. One shot caught the creature in its heart, blasting off its entire torso and sending the creature flying backwards. He fired again, and the enormous shot pulverized the creature's tiny head.

Brian ran to pull Lisa away from Patty, and one of the creatures grabbed him. He rolled onto the ground, struggling with the freakish thing. Although it was barely the size of a newborn, it was all that Brian could do to keep the thing from biting his throat. He held its head away from his neck, struggling against its phenomenal strength and the sting of its fish hook claws. He reached for his chest, summoning every once of his strength as to hold the creature with one hand. He grabbed his silver cross and pressed it against the creature's chest. The thing let go of Brian and shrieked as smoke rose from the contact point. Lisa kicked the thing off of him. Brian drew his Thompson gun and fired, emptying the entire fifty-round drum into the creature at point-blank. Lisa joined with her 9mm, and, when both had run out of ammo, they looked through the smoke to see if the creature was dead. To their amazement, their bullets' seemed to have done nothing. The thing squealed, as if delighted to have survived their attack, and began to flee, when a silver bolt pierced its heart and pinned it to the wall. Lisa saw Fr. O'Flaherty standing with his crossbow spent. The thing struggled to pull itself loose from the small arrow. Akira shouted and threw a ginsu knife, piercing its skull.

The three remaining creatures charged the group. The hunters fired, but the things were either too fast, too small, or otherwise unaffected by their bullets. They ran into the hall and made their way for the exit.

A foot came down, stomping one of the creatures into the linoleum. The other two creatures stopped and turned. Seras Victoria stood over them, holding an MP-5. She fired at one, each shot striking its target. The other fled. She dropped the carbine and drew her .45. She took aim, using her vampiric 'third eye' to aim down the barrel, right to her target. She fired. The shot hit the heart. She fired four more shots, demolishing the rapidly regenerating organ. She fired another two shots, this time severing the thing's head, and then once more, striking its severed head. The creature crumbled into ash. She looked for the other creature, but it had escape while she had been dealing with the third one.

"That was pathetic, Police Girl."

Alucard stood behind her, holding the creature that he had captured in one hand, and the one that Akira and Father Nell had subdued.

"Three captured, two killed, one escape. They should all be dead or caught."

"Sorry, Master…"

_July 5, 5:30 p.m._

Doctor Hibbert had, miraculously, managed to save Patty's life. Selma and Marge both had the same blood type, and their blood, along with the hospital's supply, barely managed to make up for all of Patty's hemorrhaging. Dr. Hibbert had to perform a hysterectomy and over two hundred stitches to sew Patty back together. She was placed in intensive care until noon, when she was transferred to a room in the main hospital.

Bart, Gina, Homer, Millhouse, and Brian waited outside the hospital, Brian, Gina, and Bart smoking cigarettes, and Homer pacing in circles. Though he had never liked Marge's older sisters, especially Patty, and although they had rarely treated him like a flea-ridden dog, let alone a human being, he found himself deeply upset.

_Oh, why am I upset? I shouldn't be worried. This is stupid Fatty and Smellma here, and I hate those two! But then, why am I worried like I was when Bart broke his leg?_

His brain answered.

_Because, even though you claim to hate them, because you love Marge, and Marge loves them, you, therefore, love them. Furthermore, love is not so much a enjoying a person's company or having positive views regarding them, but, rather, a deep, abiding spiritual connection._

"Shut up, you, or I'll eat more lead paint!"

"Dad, who're you talking to?" asked Bart.

"Oh, no one, son."

Bart, Gina, and Brian all looked at each other worriedly.

Marge and Lisa exited the hospital, followed by Ling.

"Selma's staying with her tonight."

"So we have to watch Ling?" Homer asked.

"Yes."

"Oh…," Homer whined.

"Oh, Homer, stop it. After what Patty just went through, you have no right to complain about anything."

Bart's cell phone rang, playing "Smoke on the Water".

"Yo. Uh-huh, sure. Mom, it's padre."

He handed the phone to Marge.

"Hello. Oh, hi Father. What? Oh…okay."

She hung up and handed the phone back to Bart.

"We need to go to Prof. Frink's. He's finished his analysis of the…," she stopped, noting Ling standing within earshot, "_Thingies._ We need to drop Ling off someplace."

"I'll leave her where I left Maggie and Eric."

"Where _did_ you leave Maggie and Eric," asked Lisa.

Homer grinned.

As things had gone, he had left Maggie and Eric with Groundskeeper Willie.

"Oh God no," Ling said when she saw Willie's ramshackle hut.

"Have fun!" Homer called as he sped away.

Ling approached the door and knocked. The door flung open, and Willie lurched forward, brandishing a pitchfork.

"Who're you?"

"I'm Maggie's cousin."

"Ye don't look like 'er cousin!"

"Willie, cool it, she's telling the truth."

Maggie stepped out from behind Willie, pressing the pitchfork down from Ling's face.

"Come on, let's go play on the jungle gym."

"Ye weeuns 'd best be in 'afore dark! There're fell things runnin' aboot 'a nigh'. Ach!"

Maggie went to doing chin-ups on the monkey bars. Ling sat on top of the bars, watching her cousin, while Eric played on the swings. Ling bent her knees over one of the bars, the swung down, hanging upside-down.

"Mags, is there something weird going on that I don't know about?"

"Like what?"

"Well, first, your parents leave for a few days. Then, on the yesterday, there's a random riot on your street, Aunt Patty goes to the hospital, and you show up with a bunch of guns and these guys that look like they're out of _The Matrix_, and now your parents have to go to professor Frink's lab to study something weird. Plus, there're these FBI agents running around town-"

"Mulder an' Sculley?"

"Yeah. And I saw one of their badges. It said that they're with the X-files division. I looked it up on the web, and some conspiracy site said that they're like the Men in Black, and go around investigating aliens and ghosts and stuff."

She dropped down from the monkey bars, landing on her feet. Maggie dropped down too, and caught herself with one hand.

"Maggie, what's really happening?"

Maggie rolled her eyes.

"Fine, but you're not gonna' believe me."

"Try me."

The group met Mulder outside of Frink's laboratory. Bob, Francesca, Mel, and Fr. Nell arrived shortly after the Simpsons did.

"Have they figured out what those things are?" Millhouse asked.

"Almost," Mulder replied. "Come on in."

Professor Frink's lab was darker than usual. The fluorescent lights were all off, and only the faint glow of a desk lamp and a bright, pale light over an operating table gave light. Scully stood by the operating table, wearing a medical scrubs over her work clothes, seemed to be in the process of dissecting something. As Gina drew nearer to the table, she saw that it was one of the small creature's that had burst out of Patty.

"It's dead, don't worry," Sculley said.

Professor Frink was at his desk, making notations in his computer.

"Professor?" Mulder called.

"Oh, they're all here, excellent. Ahem, ahoy. I have conducted my analysis of the creatures, and determined, beyond a doubt, that they are indeed vampires. The question is, how did they come out of your sister, Marge, like in _Aliens_, what with the squirming, and the escaping, and Sigourney Weaver in her _skivvies_! _Glavin!_"

"Why were they so tough to kill?" Brian asked.

Frink opened his mouth and raised a hand, then paused, as if forgetting what to say, adjusted his glasses, and walked over to a nearby cabinet and opened it, producing a jar containing one of the miniature vampires floating in a pale green solution.

"Ms. Sculley found out that it takes a very particular method to kill these thing-a-ma-bobs. First, one must pierce or otherwise damage the heart. Then, while the heart is damaged, the head must be severed. Then, the skull must be penetrated somehow. The decapitating and head-basherating must be done before the heart can regenerate, otherwise, the creature won't die, _d'why erhi_. Also, any wound made on the creature while the heart is damaged will not heal until the heart completely regenerates."

"Can they be killed by blood loss?" Bob asked.

"In theory, yes, but you know how vampires go: blood is turned into energy; damaged flesh takes energy to heal, thus the blood loss of a wound is equal to the volume of blood lost from hemorrhaging and the energy expended to the wound, _d'ahoy_. Well, these weird little fiendies have so much power, and heal so quickly, that the loss of blood method of killing would be impractical, practically speaking."

He cleared his throat and made a few strange noises, then continued.

"I believe Sculley found some interesting things in her autopsy. Dana?"

Sculley nodded. The others began to crowd around the operating table where she had dissected one of the creatures.

"As you can see, the creature has an abnormal skeletal system. The bones are fewer than in most newborns, and are hollow, like a bird's, but extremely durable. The large amounts of a form of cartilage, more flexible but considerably tougher than human cartilage, enables the creature incredible flexibility."

She picked up a pair of tweezers and folded back the covering skin on the creature's stomach.

"No internal organs, except for the heart. The esophagus connects directly to the superior vena cava. And this you have to see."

She used a pair of forceps to removes the top of the skull, which she had previously opened with a saw. Gina leaned in, and saw that the skull contained only a network of ligaments and blood vessels.

"No brain. No nervous tissue."

She washed off her tools and removed her gloves.

"This thing couldn't survive as a normal organism. It was born to be a vampire."

"But how was it created," Mel asked, "What daemon from the dark pits of Acheron could spawn such a monstrosity, and how, by Heaven and Earth, could six of them emerge from Patty Bouvier's womb?"

"Yeah," Bart added.

Fr. Nell looked pensive.

"I have heard of vampires producing children by mortals before, but it has always been living, mortal children. I wonder…Would you lot be against a trip to the Chinese District?"

In Springfield's Ethnictown, one of the most-visited sections was the Chinese District, where most of the initial immigrants from China settled in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and where new Chinese immigrants often settle when they arrive, at least initially. It was a lively neighborhood, filled with boutique's, imported goods, cheap boarding houses, authentic Chinese restaurants, and tiny stores featuring goods available nowhere else in Springfield.

A particular shop, located in the alley behind Lee Ho Fook's ("Best Beef Chow Mein!"), catered to particularly strange tastes. "The Little Shop of Evil" sold, as its proprietor stated, "…artifacts from places men dare to tread. We also sell frozen yogurt, which I call _frogurt_."

Fr. Nell entered the shop, escorted by Bob and Lisa. Bart was asked to come along, but refused on the grounds that he'd be traveling with Bob, and that only two other people would be there to protect him if Bob 'lost it'.

They reached the counter. Bob and Father O'Flaherty stood waiting, while Lisa, unable to repress her curiosity, wandered back to one of the shelves and began perusing the strange books stored there.

"_Darkest of Magick"…with a 'k', of course…"The Ineffable Madness of the Dark Beyond"…"Steal This Spellbook"?_

"Hello?" Father Nell called. Bob noticed the rope hanging from the ceiling, and gave it a pull.

A bell tingled in the dark recesses of the store. An old Chinamen in a Mandarin outfit emerged from the back store room, puffing on a long, thin pipe with mysterious contents.

"How may I help you, gentlemen?"

Bob looked over his shoulder, and hissed at Lisa, who was studying a skull to see if it was real, to get away from the shelves.

"We are looking for a book."

"We have many books in store. Which particular one are you looking for?"

"The _Necronomicon_."

The man winced slightly. He removed his piep from his mouth and twisted one of the long strands of his mustache contemplatively.

"We do indeed have such a book. It is a very expensive item, as high prices deter unsavory clients from obtaining it. It will cost you twenty thousand dollars."

Father Nell looked to Bob, who nodded and pulled four bars of gold bullion from his coat. The shop owner nodded appreciatively. He took the four bars and hobbled to the back of the store. After some time he reappeared carrying a rectangular object wrapped in brown paper. He set in on the counter, and Bob, after looking to Fr. Nell for permission, tore it open, revealing a book bound in black lizard skin. Bob opened it, and the title page, written in large, curling typeface, read 'The Necronomicon: The Book of the Image of the Law of the Dead-with additional related works-forward by Steven King'.

"It is a very fine book. It contains the complete Books of Eibon, Azathoth, Thoth, and Hidden Things, The Daemonolorum, and the complete "Satanic Bible" by Anton La Vey. Few other books contain such concentrated wickedness. And for free, I'll throw in a copy of 'Mein Kampf', a twenty dollar value, yours free!"

They left with their ghastly purchases. Fr. Nell leafed through the book with Lisa in the back of Bob's car while Bob drove them to the Maison Derriere, the meeting place for the Hunters that night.

Lisa looked at the book and shook her head.

"Father…"

He looked up, squinting through his reading glasses.

"Yes, Lisa?"

"Father, 'Necronomicon', 'Book of Eibon', Cthulu…all these things are from H.P. Lovecraft's 'Cthulu Mythos'! These are purely fictitious! I mean, Lovecraft was an avowed atheist, and his writings, dark and unsavory for a Catholic imagination as they might be, hardly seem to carry any real mystical weight."

Fr. O'Flaherty removed his glasses and looked her straight in the face.

"Lovecraft claimed to be an atheist, but, in truth, he was a man who lost all hope when confronted with the full extent of the powers of Hell. He stood on the edge of the abyss and dared to peek over, and what he saw was so horrific that he lost his mind."

Lisa's looked at him in confusion.

"So, what he wrote about was real?"

"Partly. For the most parts, his writings are either pure fiction, or the deluded ramblings of a shattered mind. But shattered as his mind might have been, it nonetheless bore the memories of the ancient creatures of Hell. Cthulu, Yog-Sototh, Gol-goroth, Nyarlathotep-all are great demons revealed to Lovecraft in fits of insanity. When his mind strayed furthest from rationality, he could see the demons in Hell, and knew their names. His stories were his rational mind trying to rationalize these visions."

Lisa looked down at the book.

"For the most part, this book is nothing more than a collection of bad poetry and angry writing. But here and there, the true elements of the true _Necronomicon _can be found. It talks of spells and rituals, cults worshipping demonic entities, and the hand of evil operating within human history."

"Is there a way to find a better edition?"

Fr. Nell shook his head, blinking tiredly.

"The only complete edition is the original copy itself. All attempts to translate or copy it have always been hindered, if not by Providence then by the sheer evil of the work consuming the poor soul trying to reproduce the foul tome."

Lisa felt her hand move to the silver crucifix around her neck-a gift from Brian, worn only out of love for the giver and protection from vampires, but, as she felt the cold metal grow warm in her hand, she pondered of it was portent.

"I fear the First has already obtained it. That bombing at the Vatican? My channels tell me that was an attack by vampires. Their target was not the Holy Father, but the Vatican Archives, where the original was said to be stored.

"The Vatican had the _Necronomicon_?" Lisa asked, bewildered, "But, why? How?"

"To contain it. To prevent the evil within it from destroying humanity. It's power is immense, and cannot be welt for the cause of good. Only the propagation of evil and the ultimate damnation of the user can come of its use."

"Why not destroy it?"

"Because to do so would unleash the demons it contains, most likely into whoever tries to destroy it. Don't think the Vatican hasn't tried. A fair few exorcists lost their minds and their lives 'a 'cause of it."

They arrived at the burlesque house. Fr. O'Flaherty got out of the car with the book. Lisa remained in the car, lost in dark thought.

"Lisa, come along now," Bob said softly, tapping her on the shoulder. She looked at him, and his face bore a rare, non-maniacal smile. He helped her out of the car, and shut the door for her.

Bob knocked on the door. A small slot opened, and the bouncer peered through.

"What'ya want?"

"Imago."

The door opened.

"Welcome back, Mr. Bob," the doorman chimed. He opened the curtain, and the three were immediately met with the blast of jazz music and the sight of a leggy brunette in her underwear dancing on the stage. Lisa flinched slightly. The jazz she liked. She just felt weird seeing a half-naked woman shaking her assorted "lady parts" in front of several middle-aged men in various states of drunkenness.

Belle, a smiling woman in her mid sixties, greeted them, smiling.

"Hello, sugar," she said to Bob, who, on his brief stays in Springfield, made frequent visits to the Maison Derriere-for the martinis and quality steaks as much as the mildly erotic entertainment.

"Good evening, Belle."

She eyed Lisa.

"Oh, Lisa, dahlin', how have you been?"

"Oh, alright," she said in a disinterested way.

Belle saw Fr. Nell, who was conspicuously studying his book, and doing his best not to pay attention to the dancer girls.

"Room's back here. Come along."

She led them to the back room where the others were already waiting.

Part II

Fr. Nell stood the book up on the table.

"The vampire is infertile. Unliving, he cannot produce life-with some exceptions. A female vampire cannot produce new life herself, but she can steal the seed of a mortal man-the origin of the succubus. She can transfer the life to a male vampire, the incubus, to impregnate a mortal female. The child this unholy union of living and Undead is born mortal, but, if it dies unbaptized after its seventh birthday, it will rise from the grave as a vampire. This, we have always known. While it still occurs, it is a mercifully rare event, even with today's large Undead population."

"What we saw at the hospital last night was something new-the creatures were, from their conception, Undead, and lacked all the organs that, while necessary for human life, are unnecessary for the Vampyr. I had always thought it impossible for such a thing to exist, but indeed, we saw not one, but _six_ such creatures, and they exhibited strength and power unseen before except in Master-class and higher vampires."

"The _Necronomicon_ contains a formula that requires the blood of the Master, the First Vampire, to produce soulless vampire warriors more powerful than any ordinary nosferatu. The ritual requires the blood of the Master, six men, six vampire succubi, six vampire incubi, and thirty six mortal women-note the recurrence of the number six, the number of the Devil."

"This spell is a rare one. I have seen many copies of the _Necronomicon_ and its lesser variants over the years, and this is the only version that contains it. It makes mention of a spell needed to complete the ritual, but does not provide it."

There was a knock on the door. Dolph, shotgun under one arm, opened it a crack and peeked out. He looked at Father Nell and nodded.

"Thank you, Dolph. As I was saying, it does not provide a necessary spell. That spell is contained only in the original _Necronomicon_, which, until recently, was kept in the Vatican Archives. The archives were recently attacked by a force of armed vampires, and the book reported missing. Thus, I have every reason to believe the Master organized the attack so that he could obtain the grimoire and summon his unholy offspring to him, to act as the building blocks of his army of evil, with which he plans to cover the earth in darkness."

Alucard and Seras materialized from the shadows.

"Ah, excellent timing, you two. I was just getting to how one is to properly destroy these strange vampire creatures we encountered last night. As Professor Frink discovered, the only way to destroy these things is to pierce or completely destroy the heart then sever the head and somehow breach the skull. The last two steps must be completed before the heart is able to completely regenerate. These creatures will be very hard to destroy from safe distances using firearms."

Alucard lifted up his 13mm pistol.

"This gun should make it pretty easy."

Bob grinned, "Yes, save for Alucard and Seras, no one else in this group should try to engage this creatures. Fire a few shots, draw your crucifix, and run like hell. These things are not your ordinary Undead."

Belle entered the room, holding the door open in anticipation of an unseen guest. Fr. Sean cleared his throat, and spoke, "Finally, we have two guests who will be helping us. They were in the Vatican when it was attacked earlier."

Akira Nagata entered the room with two young women: Yumie Takagi and Heinkel Wulfe. Seras looked surprised, while Alucard leered.

"Hellp," Heinkel said to Fr. Nell, "Ve are here to help you, Father."

"Fraulein, Sister Yumiko, good to see ye both. Have a seat."

The two newcomers sat next to Brian and Gina. Bart looked at the two purplexedly, especially Yumiko.

_Sheesh, a nun with a sword. They were scary enough with rulers!_

Akira gave a curt bow and left.

"Yes, thank you, Akira. Now, Agents Mulder and Sculley have been conducting their own investigation into the current crisis, and have informed me that they have some new information. Mulder, Sculley?"

Mulder held out his hand in a fist to Sculley. Sculley sighed and the two played a quick game of rock-paper-scissors. Mulder won, letting out a small "Woot!", Sculley proceeded to go up to the main podium at the front of the room.

"Well, Patty Bouvier was on of thirty-six different women found in the basement of the house on Springfield Heights two weeks ago. I perused the local media outlets, and it appears that all thirty-six women had died within the past week. What's more…" she paused, and switched on the dusty television set behind herself. She turned on the VCR and pressed the 'play' button. A scratchy recording of the morning news began to play.

"This in Kent Brockman. 'Fourth of July of Death!' More than fifty dead, and over one hundred injured in last night's riots. Now, riots are no oddity in Springfield, and have been incited by things as small as the contrstruction of a statue of Jimmy Carter in place of one of Abraham Lincoln, and Fourth of July casualties are hardly surprising, considering our town's average IQ of 75, but never before have the citizens of Springfield directed their anger against their fellow citizens with such brazen disregard for life and limb."

"In another story, 'Mysterious Deaths of Local Women'! Twenty women in Sheblyville and more than fifteen in East Springfield have died of unknown causes. What killed these women in as yet unknown, but many suspect a terrible new venereal disease!"

"Heh," Homer laughed.

"Shh!"

Sculley turned off the TV.

"Note where the women lived: twenty were in Shelbyville, and the others were all in East Springfield, the side of town closest to Shelbyville. I contacted the local police departments, and, charting their locations on a map of the local area, we can see a definite centerpoint to the activities, in Shelbyville."

"So it's off to Shelbyville, then?" Brian asked.

"It looks like it, man," Bart said.

The Master sat upon his thrown. On the floor around him, his pale creations fed upon their fresh victims. Osmar, Camilla, and Mariya entered the room. They genuflected before him, then approached.

The Master nodded and spoke.

"I thank you, Bashar. I have not had time to thank you for your efforts, so, thanks. I especially liked your inciting that war in the Abrahamite's so-called Holy Land."

Bashar grinned proudly.

"Kidnapping those two Israeli soldiers…! Perfection in its simplicity. Hezbollah will continue to attack Israel as long as Israel attacks it, and Israel will continue to attack until it gets the soldier back, which they never will, as those two soldiers are now Undead. With luck, other countries will get drawn in as well. I commend you, my friend. Go and await my further orders."

Bashar bowed, and left the room. Camilla took a step towards the Master's throne. One of the Vampire Spawn raised its head from its living prey and growled. The Master raised a hand and hushed it.

"What is it, child?"

"My lord, I have found the spell required."

"Good. What are its stipulations?"

"Only that it be performed on the dark of the moon."

"Very well. We shall wait for the new moon to raise my army. With my unholy Korak T'hun, the remnants of Bashar's army, the growing ranks of vampires flocking in from around the globe, my army is nearly completed.

He looked down at the pale vampire creatures, now the size of human children. "By the dark of the moon…they'll be all grown up by then. Hmph! Are the droogies ready? I'll need them as lieutenants of my ghoul horde."

The chamber doors opened loudly, and a mob of white jumpsuited vampires sporting bowler derbies marched in, armed with broken bottles, lead pipes, crowbars, cricket bats, and canes. They stopped, and from their ranks stepped a young vampire with a bowl cut, fake eyelashes on one eye, and a fur-lined coat over his white outfit.

"Well 'ello 'ello, Mr. Master, sir."

Author's Note: Where's Father Anderson? I edited him out. I will repost an edited version of the chapter in which he appears, excising him completely. Why? Okay, here it comes (last chance to look away): HE DIES IN THE MANGA. So, as I am keeping in vague continuity with the manga, I returned him to the cemetery.


	18. Off to Shelbyville

Bart loaded a new CD into his car stereo. The disk bore the label 'Kick ASS!'. He spun the dial to full volume. Metallica's 'Don't Tread on Me' began to blare.

Bart got out of his car and joined the other's standing in attention outside St. Jerome's rectory. Corporal Ferguson of the Hellsing strike team called of the role.

"Alpha team, sound off! Team leader Puma!"

"Sir, yes sir," Skinner shouted, saluting.

"Coyote!"

"Here," Homer shouted.

"Panther!"

"Here! Hrrrmmm…" Marge said with a nervous murmur.

"Farfalla!"

"_Qui_," Francesca shouted.

"Farfall?" asked Bart.

"_Farfalla_. It means 'butterfly'," Millhouse replied with a touch of smugness-one of Millhouse's few fortes was that he was fluent in Italian, largely due to his abusive maternal grandmother's insistence that he 'Parle italiano' in her presence.

Bart looked at Francesca, clad in boots, low-rise black pants, a black tank top, and bulletproof jacket, and noticed, on her exposed right hip, a small tattoo of a butterfly with black and fuschia wings.

"_La papillon noire et burgundie_," Brian whispered.

"Silence in the ranks," barked Ferguson. "Unicorn!"

"Here," Lisa answered. Bart and Gina looked at each other in shared disgust.

"Ram!"

"Aye, sirrrrr," Willie growled.

"Tsuchinoko!"

"Here!"

"Wolf!"

"Jawohl!"

"What's the story with those two," Nelson asked.

"Iscariot agents," Bart answered, "Or used to be. I dunno."

"Cottonmouth!"

"Here," Dolph answered.

"Asp!"

"Here!"

"Haha," Nelson laughed, pointing at Jimbo, "You're an ass-p!"

"Boa!"

"Ready," Kearney answered with a wave of his Desert Eagle pistol.

"And Racoon!"

"Ha!"

"Good, good. Beta team! Team leader Falena!"

"Present, and accounted for," Bob answered.

"Rattler!"

"Aw, crap, how'd I get on Dr. Psycho's team," Bart yelled.

"Black Mamba!"

Gina responded.

"Here!"

Bart looked at Gina.

"Yowch! Look at you with all that artillery. Glad you're on my team."

Gina smirked.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad I've got you watchin' my back with that hand cannon," she said, looking at his .44.

"Desmodus!

"Here, sir!"

Bart and Gina eyed Seras cautiously. Gina was slightly nervous around her, picking up what she claimed was a "seriously bad vibe".

"Mel!"

"Present?"

"What, no code name," asked Bart.

"No, I thought it all silly. And a waste of time."

"Lynx!"

"Here," said Brian.

"Dog!"

"Who, me," Millhouse asked.

Bart chuckled.

"What's up, 'Dog'? Ha!"

"Hey!"

"Fox!"

"Here," answered Mulder. He looked to Sculley and whispered, "Sheesh. 'Animal-based codenames'. I might have known they'd pick 'Fox'. Jesus."

"Cat!"

"Here," Sculley answered.

Mulder chuckled and said, "Meow!"

"Oh, knock it off, Mulder.

"Weasel!"

"Here," Moe said, waving his shotgun.

"Badger!"

"Here," Seamus replied.

"Shepherd!"

"Sir," responded Father Sean.

"And team Gamma, that's…just Alucard."

Alucard grinned.

Skinner raised his hand, calling for silence, then began with the orders.

"Alright, all five teams will proceed into Shelbyville. Teams Alpha and Beta will travel to the set locations surrounding the presumed focal point of the kidnappings, disembark from your vehicles, and proceed on foot to the location. Our target is the block of abandoned apartments near the focal points. This is a room-to-room operation. Seamus and Francesca will provide covering fire from the nearby rooftops, and teams Theta and Kappa will work to redirect civilian traffic and prevent any vampires from escaping. Alright, let's move out!"

Gina, Brian, Mel, and Millhouse climbed into Bart's car. Bart hopped in and pressed 'seek' until he reached the track he wanted-'Rock the Casbah', by the Clash.

"Woohoo!"

He stomped the gas pedal, and they streaked off into the darkness.


	19. Shelbyville

O salutaris Hostia,  
Quae caeli pandis ostium:  
Bella premunt hostilia,  
Da robur, fer auxilium.

Uni trinoque Domino  
Sit sempiterna gloria,  
Qui vitam sine termino  
Nobis donet in patria.

-St. Thomas Aquinas

Shelbyville, part II

"So, Miss Vendetti," Mel intoned with his usual dramatic flair, "I see that you have taken a katana as your melee weapon."

She looked at the plain katana that Bob had given to her.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Remember: you hold it loosely with the thumb and index finger, with the thumbs on the back of the hilt. The main gripping is done with the two bottom fingers."

"Where'd Bob get that one? Smuggle it from Japan?"

"No," Bart answered his sister, "It's a cheap internet order from Fat Tony. By 'cheap', of course, I mean a three-thousand, five-hundred dollar custom sword. Fat Tony's thugs raided a distribution center, got a couple million bucks worth of these."

Gina pulled out her new pistol-a Springfield Armory XD .45 ACP. Sideshow Bob had deemed her .380 Auto pistol "Insufficient against living or undead", and had brought her with Homer, Mel, and himself to the back-alley den where the group purchased cheap arms and ammo without the inconvenience of registration, background checks, and sales tax.

Louie managed the sale, while Legs and Johnny Tightlips stood by windows with their Thompson guns in case Chief Wiggum sent a patrol car over to enforce the law.

After the ammunition purchase was completed, Bob remembered his secondary purpose for coming to the bad side of town.

"Our new friend Gina Vendetti needs a new pistol, and a sword of some sort."

"You're in luck, we gots a real swell deal for yas."

He went to one of the cardboard boxes and removed a large metal case. He brought it to the overturned orange crate that was serving as their bargaining table and opened it, revealing a shiny black pistol. Removing a small card from the inside of the case and read,

"The new Springfield Armory XD. Fourteen round capacity of forty-five ACP with minimal increase in grip size. Blowback operated, dual-action trigger with new smart trigger for smoother pull, striker ignition…new features…hammer block safety, integral rail system, tactile chambered round indicator…plus two extra clips, polymer holster, clip holder for your belt, the gun's loaded. A guy'd have to pay out the ass, wait twenty-one days, and have his name put down in a computer for this kinda shit. But I am gonna let you have it for…lesee here…five hundred bucks!"

Louie held out his hand, offering a handshake

To Bob's surprise, she shook her head and replied,

"No deal. Three hundred."

Louie chuckled.

"Eh, can you dig this? Eh, Legs? Alright girlie, seriously, four-hundred seventy-five."

"Four-hundred."

"Gina…these guys are gangsters," Bob whispered to her nervously, "Just say yes to the original price and take it!"

Louie seemed visibly agitated.

"Okay…four fifty, and I'll throw in a laser light and a rail light."

"Deal!" She slapped his hand. Louie laughed.

"See her? I like this dame. She knows how to barter. Now, for your sword. What kind you want kid? I got machetes, ninja swords, rapiers, sabers-whatcha want?"

"She'll have a katana."

"What color?"

"You have a selection?" Gina asked.

"Actually, yeah. We got black, blue, purple, green, red, orange, yella'…What's yer pick?"

"Black. Goes with anything," Gina answered.

"Now there's a girl. This one is box priced as four-thousand, three hundred, but it cost only about three hundred to get. It and about fifty others; about twenty real ones and thirty or so blunt blades. The blunt blades we're auctionin' off legit, about eight of the others ones we sold to one of the local street gangs."

"You don't loose any sleep at night about supplying kids weapons they use to kill each other?"

"Not a wink."

"Huh…"

"That'll be a cool two thousand five hundred."

Bob hefted a tattered carpetbag onto the barter table, and removed several bars of gold bullion.

"Holy mackerel, bet you had to kill some guys at Fort Knox to get that, huh?"

Bob made no answer, starring grimly.

"I see, don't want to talk. Well, I'm glad you hammered all the identifyin' marks off. I'll just take these…and, we're done. Thank you gentlemen, we'll see you next month."

"How's that new pistol of yours, Gina," Brian asked.

"It's alright. Took a while to get all the stupid levers and everything figured out."

"I tried one of those at a shooting range. Didn't like the feel of it. My Para Ordinance 1911, though…" he held up his pistol, "Lost my original one up in the mountains. This is a better one-higher capacity." He winked and clicked his tongue. "Out of state import."

Bart shook his head.

"'.45 Auto'? Pussy stuff. Give me _Monterey Purple _an' my old _Horsekiller_ any day!" He patted his .44 magnum revolver lovingly. Bart carried two pistols in forty-four Remington magnum: a silver-chromed, semi-automatic Desert Eagle nicknamed _'Monterey Purple'_, and a revolver in the same caliber, with an engraved barrel reading 'El Barto' on one side, and 'Horsekiller' on the other, with equine skulls on either side of the grip.

Bart looked at Mel through the rearview window.

"Sure those black powder pistols are enough?"

"I'll have you know that I am also carrying a thoroughly modern AR-15, and furthermore, these two muzzleloaders are yet to fail to kill a vampire on one shot."

"So, wait, you're really Bob's cousin, right? How's it feel to have a total psycho as a family member, huh?" Millhouse chattered.

Mel crossed his arms and looked out the window.

"It's on par with being trapped in this car and having a proboscises cretin yammering on likes a drunken chimpanzee."

"Huh? Oh…"

Bart looked out the window. They were now in Shelbyville, Springfield's neighboring town and rival. The town had been built up in the thirteen long years since he'd ventured into Shelbyville with his friends to regain Springfield's cherished lemon tree. Small private shops had been replaced with enormous chains stores like Sprawl-Mart. Several of the old brick apartments had been demolished for the new high-rises needed to facilitate the town's rapidly growing population. The town had grown in area as well, its border expanding right along Springfield's, held back only by the few remaining tracts of farmland whose owners refused to sell. _Man, this town has changed._

Bart parked the car in front of the town hall. The old, pre-war buildings remained untouched, as did the bronze statue of Shelbyville Manhattan cavorting with his two female cousins. _Now this is familiar._

They had passed the apartment a few blocks earlier. The plan was to move in on foot, to avoid drawing attention to themselves.

"Alright, let's move!"

They grabbed their rifles ammo bandoliers, and helmets out of Bart's trunk. Brian also removed a broadsword-his replacement to his katana, which he had lost in the mountains, along with his forty-five.

"Okay, quietly. Our goal is stealth," he whispered.

They raced to the nearest patch of shadow. Sneaking like thieves in the moonlight, they crept from alley to alley, ducking behind corners at the sound of approaching cars. Luckily for them, that part of town was not much frequented after dark, as that part of town had been largely abandoned during Shelbyville's late-nineties economic boom.

They stopped within a block of the apartments. The group halted, waiting in the shadows. A small green LED flashed across the street.

"That's their signal."

"Let's move."

Bart removed a small light from his pocket, and gave it two long flashes. Both groups advanced. They met at the front door.

"Alright," Bob hissed, "Willie, kick in the door. Beta team, follow me."

Willie smashed in the door, and the Beta team, led by Bob, stormed in. Several dozen ghouls were mulling around the lobby. Upon seeing the newcomers, they ghouls simultaneously began to moan, and, raising their arms forward, marched towards them.

"Open fire!"

The ghouls were brought down with several well-placed headshots.

"Nice handlin' on that AR," Bart commended Gina.

"Thanks."

Bob looked around.

"Alright, there is a row of rooms past that desk. A row to the left, a row to the right, ghouls visible in the corridors to the left and the right, but held back by glass doors. Dog, Mel, Fox, Cat, Weasel, and Lynx, stay here and watch those doors. Rattler, Mamba, Shepherd and I will clear those rooms ahead, then we'll clear this floor before moving on to the next floor. Move!"

Gina and Bart raced forwards. As Gina passed the front corner she tripped and fell. Feeling something on her right ankle, she looked and saw a ghoul on the ground, its grey fingers wrapped tightly around the her boot. The ghoul was missing his left arm and the entire lower half of his body, his exposed spinal column dragging on the ground behind his still-living torso. Bart took aim and fired, hitting the ghoul between the eyes. It released Gina's leg and rolled onto its side, and then crumbled into ash.

"Watch you feet."

They proceeded to the first room. Bart kicked in the door, and Gina burst in, only to find a ghoul standing right in front of her.

The reanimated corpse growled and lunged. She squeezed the trigger of her AR, emptying the clip into the zombie's torso. It groaned and slumped over. Bob fired over her shoulder with his 10mm, killing it with a head shot.

"Only by destroying the brain can you hope to kill the poor creatures."

Bob returned to the room that he and Father Sean were busy clearing. Bart and Gina quickly examined the bedroom and bathroom, then left.

In the main lobby, the ghouls had begun to press against the glass doors.

"Bob! You guys better hurry. These freaks won't wait much longer!"

Bob fired a last burst from his AK-74, killing the last ghoul.

"Back to the lobby! Come on!"

At the glass door on the right, one of the ghouls took an axe from the fire hose box and shattered the glass door. On the other side, the ghouls finally figured out how to open the door, and began shambling towards the hunters. Millhouse jerked the trigger on his carbine, hitting a ghoul in the chest.

"Out! Out! Out!"

The team sprinted out of the apartment. Bob bit the pins out of two grenades and through them through into the lobby then slammed the door and threw himself to the sidewalk. The grenades exploded, blasting the apartment door off of its hinges. Bob leapt back to his feet.

"Come on! Back into the breach!"

The team charged back in. The grenades had killed several ghouls. Even more had been dismembered by the twin explosions, lying on the floor, shaking and convulsing.

"Dog, Mel, Fox, Weasel, Lynx, take the left, Rattler, Cat, Mamba, Shepherd, to the right!"

Moe fired his shotgun, knocking three ghouls sprawling. Brian opened up his Thompson gun, killing the three. Millhouse and Mulder fired their carbines, braining the ghouls and pressing forward down the hall.

The Hunters of the Sacred Order of St. Michael forced their way through the first floor, combating the ghouls room to room. Teams Alpha and Beta met each other in the hall, and then moved onto the second floor.

Lisa reached the top of the stairs. She searched the surrounding room with the light on the end of her rifle.

"All clear!"

Lisa moved down the hall, followed by Homer, Skinner, and Marge. Down the hall, a door flew open, and a young woman stepped into view. Her eyes flashed red in the light from Lisa's mounted torch.

"Shoot it!"

Lisa fired. The vampire dodged her shots, racing down the hall and leaping into the air to deliver a kick to Lisa's temple. Lisa fell backwards, tumbling down the stairwell. Homer pointed his shotgun and pulled the trigger, but the vampire batted the barrel away just as it fired. She backhanded Homer, then dodged Marge's katana as it swung past her head. She plowed into Skinner, knocking him to the floor. The vampire wrestled to get to Skinner's throat, cutting him with her talons. Skinner drew his pistol and fired into her gut. The vampires gasped and ceased struggling long enough for Skinner to draw his trench knife. The vampire screamed as she saw the blade plunging into her left breast. The monster's body convulsed then stiffened. Skinner twisted the blade, sneering viciously, then withdrew. The vampire was consumed by a fleeting fury of flames, and then, all that remained was ash. Skinner inhaled sharply, popped a sore joint in his neck, and sheathed his knife.

At the bottom of the stairwell, Lisa lay unconscious. Her eyes fluttered faintly, as if in dreaming sleep. She saw faint images, flashes. A pale, fanged face; a face with a protruding browridge, upturned nose, and large, pointed ears. A clawed hand. A storm-darkened sky streaked with red. A crimson river bleeding into a dark sea.

She opened her eyes, and saw Alucard standing over her.

"Huh?"

"He's here, isn't he?"

The Hunters fought fiercely through the apartment. Each room was a fight, each floor a war zone.

Bob cleaved through a vampire's chest with his katana. He was sore and tired, and his arms ached from hours of constant exertion, but the blade cut clean through the creature's ribcage and opened its heart, spilling its lifeblood. Bob leaned against the wall, catching his breathe. A vampire crept out of a room to his right. It growled, its demon face emerging form its human features, and made ready to pounce. Before it could leap, the shiny sliver of steel burst from it's left beast. It screamed and crumbled into ashes, revealing Sideshow Mel standing with his rapier extended.

"Thanks."

Mel didn't answer, but took out a handkerchief and wiped the vampire ash from his blade.

"How many more floors have we got?"

Mel sighed and set his hands on his knees.

"At least ten more."

"Merde."

Down the hall, three vampires materialized, two with pistols, one with a shotgun. They charged at the hunters, firing wildly and shouting,

"Die! Die! Humans! Die!"

"Take cover!"

The Hunters ducked into the rooms. Bob leaned out into the hall, and was nearly hit with a blast of buckshot. Mel fired from the room across the hall, killing one of the vampires with a pistol. The shotgun wielder fired at Mel, his shot shattering the doorframe. Bob stepped into the hall and fired with his twin 10mm pistols. The two vampires returned fire, and Bob threw himself into the room with his cousin. Dolph worked the barrel of his shotgun out of the room he was crouching in, and fired. The shot grazed the arm of one of the vampires, causing him to cringe. Bob took advantage of his brief opportunity and fired four shots mid-torso, dropping the vampire instantly. The one remaining vampire roared. His eyes became luminous, his lips pulled back, revealing his elongated fangs, and his browridge became grotesquely furrowed. He fired at Dolph, emptying his pistol into his chest. Dolph grunted and fell back against the door. His vest had saved him from immediate death, but the multiple close-range shots had cracked his ribs. The vampire dashed down the hall. It punched Bob in the gut. Bob dropped his pistol and blocked the second and third punches, backpeddling down the hall. The vampire batted Bob's hand's aside, then shoved him away, sending him flying through the air and crashing in a heap at the end of the hall. Mel struck with his rapier, leaving a bright gash across the vampire's back. The Midian spun around, and received two more gashes across its face and a third on its stomach. Mel made to lunge, but vampire batted the light blade off course and grabbed Mel by his extended arm. He twisted it hard, popping the arm from it socket. He grabbed one of Mel's flintlock pistols from his belt and threw Mel into the wall. He pressed the pistol against Mel's temple.

"Suck it, human!"

The vampire's chest exploded in a red cloud of flesh and fluids. Mel saw the vague glint of a rifle barrel flash in the moonlight from across the street.

"Suck that, you impertinent incubus."

Bob limped up to his cousin. He bent over, picking up Mel's pistol, and tossed it into his cousin's lap. He looked at the splatter from the dead vampire. Mel motioned with his head, and Bob looked out the window.

"Bless you, Francesca."

He knelt down.

"Your arm's dislocated," he asked as he removed his gloves.

"I believe so," Mel answered through gritted teeth.

"Bugger all. Here," he handed Mel his glove to bite down on. He put the leather glove in Mel's mouth, then took Mel's arm and jerked it back into the joint. Mel moaned faintly, his teeth clamping down on the glove. Bob saw Dolph lying on the floor.

"Asp! Dolph, are you alright?"

Dolph's eyes were closed. Bob placed to fingers on the side of Dolph's throat, and felt a faint pulse.

"Mel, carry young Dolph down to the medics. I must press on."

He lifted up Dolph and set him over his cousin's shoulders. He found Mel's rapier, and gave it to him.

"…Thanks, Robert."

Mel ambled down the hall, straining under Dolph's weight. Bob found his two pistols on the floor, loaded fresh magazines into both, then proceeded down the corridor.

On the floor above, Marge, Homer, Heinkel, Yumie, Bart, Gina, Willie, and Brian were locked in a fierce battle with a pack of vampires.

Brian spied three more emerge from a room, crawling along the wall like enormous cockroaches. He fired three bursts from his Thompson, bringing them down in explosions of blood and plaster. Two more raced at him. He fired and killed one, but when he aimed at the second and pulled the trigger, he heard only a disheartening 'click'.

"Fuck."

He smashed the vampire in the face with the butt of his submachine gun. The vamp staggered backwards, giving Brian time to draw his pistol. The Undead shook off its injury and readied to attack. A stream of small bullets cut it down, speckling its pale flesh with red holes. Brian looked down at his pistol, confused. He looked to the right and saw Heinkel, her two 9mm pistols smoking. She smiled proudly, unaware of the vampire hanging from the ceiling above her. She saw Brian's eyes widen and his pistol move to fire, and without looking she fired at the ceiling. The vampire fell to the ground, and Brian silenced it with a shot to the temple.

"Sheisse! It seems that there's no end to them!"

On the roof, a lone figure stood in the yellow moonlight. He stared up at the moon, lost in unaging dreams.

"The moon wanes…the nights grow longer and darker."

He turned, snarling, revealing a pale, bat-like face with red eyes. Alucard had appeared on the other end of the roof. The dark figure approached him. Alucard grinned, revealing his vampiric fangs. The figure, the Master, stood before him, clad in a tight leather jumpsuit.

"So you're the Master…the first vampire to walk the earth."

"I see my reputation proceeds me. Who might you be, Midian? I see you are Undead, but I don't quite know if I approve of the outfit."

"Same for you. Must be hot in that thing."

The Master chortled.

"Yes, you are quite the joker. But enough talk. You are a traitor who would try to kill me, are you not? Well, tough guy, go ahead!"

He held out his arms, exposing his torso. Alucard drew his .454 Casull and fired three shots. The Master vanished before the bullets could strike, reappearing next to Alucard. He tried to strike Alucard with his great clawed hands, but Alucard blocked his strike with his free hand. He fired, hitting the Master in the forehead. The Master staggered backwards, clutching his head.

"Aw…silver. And blessed by the power of the Enemy. I see you that you truly are one disgusting, self-hating bastard."

"Self-hatred," Alucard replied, "Yes, I am a hateful thing. One cannot know me and not hate me. But don't think that I hate you because I see myself in you. What are you but a dog, a dog that would give away his soul to escape death. Yes, my hatred for your kind burns brighter than the fires of Hell, but not for pitiful self-hatred. I hate you because you're filth!"

He fired his pistol again. The Master dodged each shot, contorting with incredible speed without even moving his feet. Alucard pressed the clip release on his pistol. The ancient vampire sprinted towards him so quickly that his fist met Alucard's face before the clip had hit the floor. Alucard reeled with the force of the blow, then countered with a strike to the Master's chest. The Master coughed and stepped backwards, as if winded, but immediately recovered and threw another punch. Alucard blocked it and counterpunched. His adversary blocked the blow and swiped at Alucard's face. Alucard leapt backwards and delivered a spinning kick that struck the Master in the side of the face. The old vampire seemed completely unphased. Alucard laughed, delighted.

"Wonderful! You truly are a true Class 'A' vampire, a true Midian of old!"

The Master snarled.

"You won't last long, 'Master'. I hope you like the taste of depleted uranium."

The Master jerked his head, puzzled. There was a distant flash on the roof of a nearby building. An enormous uranium slug sped towards the Master at thousands of meters a second. The Master dematerialized at the last instant, dissolving into shadow as the shot passed through where he had stood. Alucard watched awestruck as the shadow traveled along the roof, climbed up the edge, and rose of the cement, taking the form of an enormous beast with the wings of a bat, the head of a wolf, and the antlers of a gazzelle. The monster shrieked and flew off into the night.

Bob and the others arrived about half an hour later. They found Alucard sitting on an air conditioning unit, smoking a cigar.

"Was he here," Bob asked.

Alucard nodded.

"He's the real thing for certain…not the second-rate punks you had to slog through down there." He smirked.

"They seemed to give you enough trouble as it was. Casualties?"

"None dead, Dolph, Nelson, Kearney, Millhouse, and Brian are in pretty bad shape. Brian's still on his feet, though. Bart, Willie, Skinner, Fox, Lisa, and Gina all slightly wounded. We weren't ready for this kind of fight."

Alucard nodded. Seras swooped down from the sky and lighted besides him.

"Bad shot, Police Girl. Should have fired from behind him-the shot is supersonic, so all you have to worry about is the flashback. You ought to have known better, little sniper."

Alucard looked off into the darkness.

"He is one like us, Seras. A true Undead-the first No-Life King. He will not permit a challenger to the throne. There can only be one Vampyr Lord."


	20. Enter Uter

Entre Uter

Uter van Dort was born in Regensburg, in the German region of Bavaria. He came to Springfield as a foreign exchange student at the age of eleven. He was a short, pudgy boy at the time, fond of sweet, especially chocolate, marzipan, and flavor wax. He was often teased for his portliness, and, being quite intelligent, he bonded with Martin Prince and the small group of geeks, nerds, and social outcasts who called themselves "The Superfriends". As time went by, Uter decided to do something about his appearance. Inspired by Austrian bodybuilder, actor, and restaurateur Rainier Wolfcastle, under the tutelage of the deranged but gifted instructor Lugash, he committed himself to transforming himself from lard-laden wedgie bait into an _Übermensch_.

Uter was now twenty-four. Six feet tall, weighing two hundred and fifty pounds, with rippling muscles and short-cropped hair. He was an intimidating figure, and, were he in Germany during the time of Hitler, would have been held, with his blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin, and tall, muscular build, as the very perfection of Aryan perfection.

Uter did not see him self as such, though. His family, village butchers and ardent Catholics, were disgusted by the brutality and godlessness of the National Socialist party and it's Fuhrer; father's brother had been sent to the camps for refusing to join the Wermacht. Though he was proud to be a German, he hated Nazism, and felt as though the sins of his countrymen left him indebted to all other men. Though jovial and outgoing, at heart, he was a quiet and retiring man; contemplative, religious, and humble.

It was a muggy summer night, and Uter, already hot and exhausted from a vigorous exercise session, was struck hard by the heat. He wiped the sweat from his brow and headed for his car, a small, used Mercedes-Benz. It was late at night, and the parking lot was mostly deserted. He searched for his keys, then unlocked the car and loaded his gym bag in the backseat. He patted his face with his towel, sighing with exhaustion.

A plastic bottle crunched behind him. Uter looked over his shoulder, and then swiftly turned around. A gaunt woman stood barefoot on the hot pavement, her ragged t-shirt and skirt hanging on her emaciated frame.

"Oh, you startled me! Hello. Are you alright, ma'am?"

The woman made no answer. She stood silently, swaying slightly in the hot wind.

"Auf weiderzen."

He turned around to open the driver's door to his car, only to find a thin, ashen-faced boy standing in his way. The boy's eyes were black, as though his pupils had dilated to fill his entire eye. A red light appeared within them, startling Uter and causing him to take several steps backwards. He bumped into something, to find the gaunt woman, her eyes alight.

The woman's chin dropped to her chest, revealing a flickering tongue and rows of pointed fangs. The youth grabbed Uter's arm and bit down.

"Sheisse," Uter screamed. The woman raised her hands and lunged, shrieking. Uter smashed her in the face with his elbow, the punched the boy it the face. The youth staggered backward and tripped, hitting his head against the side of Uter's car. The lad shook his head, and leapt to his feet, snarling. Uter brought his right his behind his head and punched the young man with all of his strength. The man stepped back, stunned. Uter punched again, striking him in the nose, drawing a trickle of blood. He punched a third time, sending the lad headfirst into the driver's side window of his car, leaving the glass spider webbed with fractures. The boy slumped to the ground.

Uter was about to open the door and drive away when the woman leapt upon him from behind, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. Uter stumbled and slammed her against his car, leaving another window cracked. The woman did not loosen her grip. Uter tried to pull her arms off of his throat, but her arms were immovable. A hand grabbed Uter's ankle. He tumbled towards the black asphalt, the woman clinging to him still.

Uter took the brunt of the fall with his chest and face, his chin splitting wide open. The woman crawled of his back as a hand grabbed his other ankle. He was twisted onto his back. He saw the young boy, tongue darting in and out like a cobra, saliva dangling from elongated canine teeth. The woman knelt by his head. She seized his head in her vice-like grip and lifted him up to her mouth. Uter felt cool, reeking air issue from her nostrils, a terrible stench of decaying flesh, of a corpse bloated with gas and fat, hook-mouthed maggots.

Heinkel dropped from the roof of the gym. She landed gracefully, dropping to one knee with the momentum of her fall, and drew her two pistols. She fired several shots at the woman about to bite Uter. The shots tore into her head, neck, and shoulders; she shrieked in pain, releasing Uter and fell to the ground, convulsing in pain. The young male saw Heinkel and roared with ire. He raced across the parking lot, speeding towards her with faster than a thoroughbred. Heinkel fired again, but the boy was too quick; he leapt into the air, over her shots. He flew towards her, one foot extended to strike her face. Heinkel dodged the attack in the last instant, rolling to the side as the foot passed through the space just previously occupied by her throat. Heinkel pointed one pistol and fired, hitting just left of center of the man's back. He screamed and fell to the ground.

Uter was dazed. He sat up, and flinched as the pain in his chin and arm began to register. He heard footsteps and began to clamber to his feet. He swooned and caught himself against his car. He saw Heinkel approaching, something dark hanging from her right hand, and what appeared to be an enormous silver nail in her left.

She knelt beside the corpse of the woman, set the round, dark object down, and removed a small mallet from the inside of her black duster.

"Who…who are you?" Uter managed to stammer.

"Zat does not matter."

Uter recognized the accent.

"_Sprechen zie Deutsch_?"

The woman stiffened, and then looked at Uter, her bright eyes barely visible over the rim of her dark glasses.

"_Ja_," she replied, smiling faintly.

"You are from Hessen, correct," he asked in German.

"Yes," she answered. She set the point of the silver stake on the woman's left breast, and raised the hammer up high.

"What are you…," Uter began in English, but stopped as his eyes came to rest on the black object that she had been carrying. In the jaundiced lamplight, he saw that it was the boy's head. The hammer fell. The stake pierced the woman's breast. Uter wailed as the hammer rose and fell, over and over. Blood began to ooze from the wound, spilling onto the sidewalk. He covered his eyes. His stomach lashed and lurched in nausea. He sank to the ground, trembling.

Heinkel rolled corpse onto its side, and hammered the stake through. She hung up her hammer on her belt, and took out a small hacksaw. She grabbed the woman by her hair and sawed through her neck. She set the head next to that of the young man, drew both pistols, and unleashed a volley of shots into the severed heads, splattering the pavement with blood and grey matter. Wisps of thin, blue flames materialized over the corpse. The body and two mutilated heads burst into brilliant orange flames that consumed the remains as swiftly as if they were made of paper.

"Gott in Himmel!"

"Vampires," she stated in German, "The living damned who consume the blood of the living to prolong their life beyond the grave."

She looked at him bracing himself against the car. His arm was bleeding. Dark blood slowly trickled from his forearm and onto the blacktop.

"Here, I'll drive you to the hospital."

He nodded weakly and handed her the keys. She unlocked the car, and Uter climbed in the passenger seat. Heinkel turned the ignition, revved the engine, and sped out of the parking lot.

"Dis is und Mercedes, nein?" she asked.

"_Ja_," he said, nodding involuntarily. His head was swimming. A vague pounding had begun in his temples, bringing vertigo with each breath. He watched her managing the manual shift, rocketing through the late night traffic with cool focus. "You handle it vell."

"I learned to drive in one of these. I love zis kind of car."

She pulled a sharp turn. Uter, nearly delirious with shock, thought nothing amiss for several minutes.

"The hospital is not zis vay."

"_Ja_, I know."

Uter stared at her in astonishment.

"You have seen the Vampyre. Few living have seen them, und fewer still live long. You have choice, now. You can choose to die, and die vith all do honor, for you fought vith strength und ferocity unnatural in mortal men, or you can join zose who oppose them."

"Who are they," he asked, leaning his head back, his speech lapsing into German as his eyes darkened.

"The Knights of St. Michael, the secret warriors of ze Catholic Church."

"Das…Catholic…Chur…," he mumbled, his head lolling forward as the car rattled down the road. He saw the dashboard rush towards him.

Uter awoke on a brown corduroy couch that smelt strongly of tobacco. Sunlight shined upon him from a large bay window. An icepack was on his chin, and his right arm was bandaged. He heard footsteps, and saw Dr. Hibbert, Bart Simpson, and a tall, wraithlike man entering the room.

"Well," Hibbert chuckled jovially, pipe between his teeth, "Looks like you're not doing to bad."

Bart walked over to the couch.

"Bart Simpson?"

"Hey, Uter-man. Long time, no see."

"I…," Uter shook his head laughing in disbelief, "I had ze strangest dream…"

"That was no dream, kid," Gina called. Utter looked to his left. Gina, Lisa, Marge, and Heinkel were sitting together at a table, sipping coffee with Mrs. Hibbert.

"_Guten Morgin_."

"_Mein Gott_."

Uter fainted and slid to the floor.

After Uter was revived and his shaky nerves calmed with a drink and some breakfast, Fr. Sean calmly explained the situation.

"You'll have to forgive Frauleine Wulfe for her zeal. She's a very enthusiastic fighter…a bit of a fanatic, but a good person and valuable ally."

Uter nodded, and took a sip of hot chocolate.

"She did threaten to kill me."

"Well, that's just her. I wouldn't have let it happen, if you don't want to be part of this, you can leave at any time."

Uter, who had been shoveling bran into his mouth during Father's response, looked up, milk dribbling from his lips.

"So I can leave?"

Fr. Sean shifted in his chair. He leaned forward, hands folded.

"Uter, you must realize the dire straits we are in. A millennia-old vampire lord has been reborn, and his power grows daily. It won't be long before his darkness covers the face of the earth."

Uter swallowed.

"So, what can I do?"

"Join the team! You're a strong, healthy young man, fit as a fiddle. We could use more like you. Some of our team is still in pretty bad shape since our last outing. And, as a member, you'll get weapons, ammo, and our special benefits package!"

"Dental?"

"What, are you crazy? No! But we will pay for any injuries you sustain while on duty, and you get to hall up in Brian's house whenever you like."

"I never agreed to that!"

"Shut up! Anyway, will you join, lad?"

Uter considered for a moment, then, with a heavy sigh, said "Might as vell. I mean, if vhat you say about zis ubervampire coming to life, I'm as good as dead anyvay."

"Excellent! Come on, let's get you gear."

He stood up and walked away. Uter quickly finished his cereal before rushing after him.

_At KBXL…_

Bart sat with his hand under his chin, legs crossed. The smoke trailing from his cigarette drifted upwards and into the fan, where it was spread about the room. "Hey You" by Pink Floyd was playing. The song injected its fear, confusion, and resentment into his already embittered heart. Jessica watched him, her eyes misty and distant.

Bart felt miles away from her. He and Gina had grown to love each other. They had been physically intimate only once, but in his mind, it was enough; he belonged to Gina now: mind, body, heart, and soul. _She's more beautiful than Gina. She's more experienced. So why do I feel better with Gina? Maybe…its that, with Gina, I feel that she's giving herself totally to me. With Jess it was always like she was hiding something, like something pulled her away from me. God! Why? I'd be laying next to her and ask what she was thinking about, then she'd start crying and hold me, squeeze the hell out of me like she was trying to hide in me. _Jessica, though 'the preacher's daughter', though never arrested, though never even ticketed, was dirtier, more heartless, than Gina, the girl who, by eighteen, had spent a decade behind bars. Gina, though tough and blunt, was honest, and open to Bart and his love. _I love you, Jessica. I'm sorry. _

Jessica was as distant as the dark side of the moon. Only a foot of air lay between her and Bart; she sat behind twelve inches of brick and mortar, lost behind her wall. Less than a year since she and Bart had been together, since Bart, mad with love, bought an engagement ring. _What happened? We had a ring, we had a reservation. I had even decided what color my bridesmaids' dresses would be. We were going to be together, and it would be like everything, my father, my mother, the boarding school, Rod, the senior prom in Shelbyville, those years of hating him for being so good, everything, had never happened, and that we could be just us, and he'd hold me forever, and no one would ever hurt me, and I'd always be loved. _She could never take him now. He was with her, _her_, that nameless, amorphous, terrible other, the girl she hated because she was not. She tried to hate Bart for it, but found each once of hatred flowing back into her with each effort. _I can never have him. I had him twice, and blew it each time. It's over._

"But it was only fantasy,

The Wall was too high, as you can see.

No matter how he tried, he could not break free,

And the worms ate into his brain."

Jessica took the microphone.

"Well, it's frickin' Monday again. Might as well get out of bed and go to work. Here's 'The Girlfriend Is Better' by Talking Heads. Woo."

Bart pressed the button, cutting off the mikes and switching to Mac's sound booth. The song commenced. Bart looked at Jessica, offering a friendly smile. Jessica smiled faintly, eyes looking away from Bart. _It's over._

Later than afternoon, Homer and Marge took Eric and Maggie to the Springfield Shooting Range.

"Since when do we go to the shooting range, dad?" Eric asked.

Marge murmured nervously.

"Well, let's just say that it's a dangerous world, and we want you two to be able to defend yourselves."

"Especially _you_, shrimpy," Homer added, looking at Eric in the rearview mirror, "Look at those wet noodle arms. And that hair! Honestly, are you _trying _to get beaten up or what?"

"Homer!"

"It's true," Eric said under his breathe.

They met Lisa and Brian outside the range. Brian had his guns all stashed inside a black carrying case, in case any police officers asked about his illegally-modified, unregistered assault rifle. They went inside together, bought targets, cartridges, and hearing and eye protection, and found lanes to practice. Brian started with his Smith & Wesson 628 .45 Colt, and its ear-shattering report and the fact that Brian's shots all landed within an inch of each other caught Maggie's fancy immediately.

"Hey, Brian, can I try that one?"

"Sure, Maggie."

He reloaded the revolver and handed it to Maggie. Brian set up a fresh target for her, and then gave Maggie the signal to fire. She immediately squeezed off all six shots, and kept pulling the trigger long after.

"Whoa, easy there, Annie Oakley. Let's see how you did."

He pulled the target back on its pulley and surveyed the results. _Well, five of them hit black. Not too bad. They're all over, though. It'd be…jeez, a twelve inch group. She's got the talent, though. She could be pretty killer if she actually bothered to take time to aim_.

"Well, you got most of them in the black, 'cept for that one, but we'll just call that a flyer. You're good, but you need to take time to aim. You're shot's are all over."

"It's the gun. I hate the long trigger pull. It makes the barrel go up."

"That's called 'dual-action', and some people just hate it. My dad had a Super Six, and even though it was double action, he never fired it like it. He even refused to buy a semi-automatic a friend offered to sell him for three hundred dollars, because it was a dual-action only. Here, reload it, but this time, cock the hammer back by hand. See how that works for you."

Maggie reloaded the pistol while Brian set up another human silhouette target. She took aim, pulled back the hammer, and fired. She repeated five more times. When Brian drew the target back, the shots were all in a small, neat group in the center of the chest.

"Much better. Now, on this one, try hitting the heart. I have a clear plastic outline of the body, so we'll get to see afterwards if you managed to hit the heart at all."

Eric watched from the side, frightened.

"Scared, kiddo?"

Herman stood behind him.

"Kinda."

"Never fired a gun before?"

"No, sir."

"Here," he handed him a small pistol, "A Ruger Mark III Target, modified for an extra-light trigger of 2 ¾ pounds. Try it. It's like butter."

Eric walked over to a firing lane, and fired the pistol. Though only a .22 caliber handgun, the barrel kicked up as if he was firing a .500 magnum. Eric nearly dropped the gun, and Herman reached out with his one arm to keep him from falling over. The shot hit the lane wall.

"Easy! Hold that gun tight! Pull the trigger long and slow, not a quick jerk. Aim down the barrel after you fire! Don't fear the gun. Control it, you're the master. Control the gun or it will kill you."

Eric took a deep breath. He aimed, trying to keep his shaking hands pointing the pistol at the dark of the target. He set his finger on the trigger, and started to apply pressure. _Steady…steady!_ The gun went off once more. The shot hit the paper target, making it jump slightly.

"Good. You hit it, at least. Keep at it, and remember: you are in control, kid."

"Hey Herman!"

"How-do, Homer?"

"Alright, things considered."

"That so," he replied. The one-armed veteran looked around, then leaned in and whispered, "I got a shipment of Black Talons in. I got to move them by Tuesday. One of Louie tipped me off that the Federal Bureau of Firearms and Tobacco inspector is stopping by tomorrow. I'll give you the whole bunch for twenty a box."

Just at that moment, Mulder and Sculley walked in.

"Sure deal!" Homer said in his conspicuously loud 'whisper', "We'll meet you later to buy the illegal bullets!"

Herman, having seen the two FBI agents and having failed to silence Homer with hand signals, answered loudly, "No, friend, I don't know what time it is! Nice talking to you," and dashed off. Mulder and Sculley eyed him suspiciously, then walked over to the five Simpsons and Brian.

"Hey guys. Getting some practice in?"

"Yeah," Brian said. He looked to see that Maggie and Eric were preoccupied, then pulled up his pant leg, revealing the stitches from the wounds he had received in Shelbyville. "We were completely unprepared for that. We can't let that happen again."

"Right," Mulder agreed.

Sculley took a newspaper from under her arm.

"Did you see this?"

Brian looked at the paper, the _Shelbyville Reporter_.

"That guy from NSync is gay?"

"No, the bottom corner."

Lisa looked over Brian's shoulder, and gasped.

"´Local child, Age Five, Devours Kittens'!"

"And this-!" Sculley said, removing a newspaper clipping. It was dated from the day earlier, and read

Lisa took the paper and read aloud.

"'Schoolgirl Stabs Teacher, Classmate: Shelbyville High School. Local teen Angela Vega is being held by Shelbyville Police on charges of murder and attempted manslaughter. Vega, in the middle of delivering a class report, without provocation, seized a pair of scissors from her teacher's desk, and stabbed her teacher, one Miss Marilyn Holly, in the neck, severing her carotid artery. Her classmate and friend, Olivia Samson, screamed and asked her what she was doing. Then, according to witnesses, Miss Vega charged at Olivia and stabbed her several times in the face and shoulders before a fellow classmate, one Richard Hair, tackled her to the ground'…"

"See how it ends," Mulder said, "It says that the girl has no memory of the incident, and claims that the Devil made her do it."

"Demonic possession," Brian said.

"Possibly," Mulder answered, "Fr. Nell sure thinks so. He says it's linked to the _Necronomicon _use. He thinks that it's opened the gates of Hell, and that the reason for the increased violent crimes and alleged demonic possessions in Shelbyville is that the town has become flooded with demons."

"What could Camilla be doing with the book?" Lisa asked.

"I don't know," Father Nell answered three hours later, in the back room of the Maison Derriere, "But whatever it is, nothing good can come from it. These incidents have been on the rise, and it can only mean that the powers of the _Necronomicon_, and the Master, are growing. We must bring a stop to this. I suggest a full move of our operations into Shelbyville, so that we can combat the rising tide of ghouls, vampires, lichs, weres, and demoniacs. I've received permission from the bishop to perform the rite of exorcism for the boy and the girl they've in custody. Aside from that, we must exterminate as many Undead as possible in Shelbyville, and find the hideout of that accursed fiend."

"Here-here!" Homer shouted, waving his beer mug.

_Late that night…_

The moth flitted through the moonlight. Jessica watched it raptly. There were two women behind her, older women, one vaguely familiar. They were speaking to each other, but sounded far away. The moth landed on the window sill. It was yellow, red, and black. Two black, empty sockets stared from its back, and a tooth grin mocked her horror. The moonlight became crimson, and the two women behind her screamed. Jessica thought that one said "Patty".

"I give you death. Death is mine, and mine is yours."

A silhouette had appeared in the window. Two bullet holes appeared in its head, and it's caught fire at the edges, crumbling upon it, a paper target. She turned and saw Bart, _Monterey Purple_ smoking in his hands. He had strings trailing up from his limbs, like a marionette. Above him, pulling the strings was Gina, who looked at Jessica and grinned wickedly. Bart fired. Jessica saw the enormous bullet flying towards her. She fell backwards, and the bullet missed. She fell through the floor, and into darkness.

She found herself upon a pedestal, standing in a dark room. The silhouette appeared once more, now upon a pedestal of its own, backlit with blue light.

"You cannot win in life. Life is of the Enemy. The enemy wants to smother and suppress, to scorch all into uniform oblivion with his cruel flame. Only in darkness do you belong."

Jessica awoke. It was still night, but the grey light on the horizon signaled that the dawn was near. She went to the restroom. She turned on the tap, and reached for the soap. Something bristly passed her hand. She screamed and jumped back against the wall. She switched on the lights, and cautiously returned to the sink. Something was rustling in the sink. She looked in, and heard a shrill shriek. A small insect, a moth, was fluttering in the sink, struggling to escape from the water. An insect with a black, furry head, thorax, and abdomen, and brightly colored wings. An insect with a grinning skull upon its thorax, an insect, that, when aggravated, produced a shrill death scream. The Death's Head Hawkmoth, _Acherontia Atropos._

Notes: Heinkel Wulfe's hometown: Amoneburg, Hesse, Germany.


	21. Acherontia

Cleaning Up the Streets

Cleaning Up the Streets

A boot kicked up against the wall while the laces were tightened and knotted. A rifle, cleaned and oiled, loaded with a fresh clip of custom cartridges. A silver crucifix dangled from a steel chain around Gina's neck.

The Hunters were preparing for war. Akira sat at a table in his karate gi, nunchaku dangling from his belt, sharpening his knives with a whetstone. Bart entered with a cardboard box. He opened it and removed a pair of fingerless black leather gloves. He put one on and then sat clenching and unclenching his fists, looking at the red cross on the back. 'Jesus' was written vertically in black letters within the cross, and 'yes' was written horizontally, the 'yes' sharing 'Jesus'' 'e'. He tossed Brian a pair. Brian looked at the back. The gloves white, made of synthetic fivers, and bore white Latin crosses surrounded with the words '_Ave Crux, Spes Unica_'

"Hail Holy Cross, our only hope," Lisa said. Bart handed her a white pair. She read the back, "Speak with the Dead."

"I guess these are standard-issue for the Vatican's anti-Undead units, right?" she asked, somewhat put-off by the combination of militancy and morbidity expressed by the gloves.

"Hey," Brian said, grinning, "We Catholics know how to die in style."

Jessica Lovejoy sat with her friends at Bloater's. The other girls were lively and cheerful, laughing and chatting and downing jell-o shots. Jess was sullen, silent, as she nursed her cosmopolitan. Her friends went to go dance, leaving her alone. She sighed, and watched them, chin resting on her hand? She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned her head quickly. Two women were now sitting across from her. One was a young, busty brunette with a round, rose-cheeked face and a pink dress, the other was thin and dark, with lanky black hair, ashen skin, and sunken eyes. The brunette smiled and raised her martini glass. The dark one sipped from a dark red wine glass.

"Who are you?"

The woman in pink set down her glass and answered, smiling.

"'Now wakes the hour that sleeps the swan,

Behold the dream; the dream is gone'."

Jessica stared

"'Pillow of Winds'," the woman said.

"Right, Pink Floyd, from _Meddle_," she said, nodding, "We played that today. You listen to the show?"

"We listen to your voice and your mind, your heart, body, and soul. The walls of fabric and flesh are no barrier. We see your soul fester, and it makes me salivate," the dark woman hissed, ending with a slurping noise. Jessica's upper lip curled in disgust and confusion.

"Mariya is such a lively one, isn't she?" the pink woman laughed.

"Who the hell are you? Get the hell away!"

The young woman chortled throatily. She held up her right hand, palm up. She closed it, then blew upon it, opening her hand. Something dark flew out of it, buzzing and clicking. It landed on the rim of Jess' glass, back facing her. A skeletal face starred up at her from her cosmopolitan.

Jessica tried to get up, but the brown-haired woman grabbed her hand. Jessica felt a cold sensation shoot up her arm, and found herself unable to move from her chair. The dark-haired one laughed, elongated canine teeth.

"Vampires," Jessica mouthed, her words barely escaping as a faint whisper.

The hideous, hissing moth began to crawl around the rim of Jessica's glass, fluttering its wings while emitting a shrill squeak.

"Yes…we serve the Master, the father of all Undead. I come to you, because we need your help. We need the Hunter's killed. At this very moment, your old boyfriend Bart and his little chums are slaughtering dozens of our fellow vampires."

"Them and the two blood traitors."

"Yes, Alucard. You know who that is."

The death's head moth stopped its circling. It turned to face the inside of the glass, and extended its proboscis. It proceeded to drain Jessica's glass, and then fly back into Carmilla's waiting hand.

"The Master is kind, Jessica. While we would have gladly killed you, he has offered you a gift. So, you have a choice."

She moved her hand over the glass. She closed her hand over the moth. Jessica heard a sickening crunching, then a woman's scream. She closed her eyes, sobbing. Through the loud music and the dozens of conversations around her, she heard a trickling sound. She opened her eyes, and saw blood falling from Carmilla's hand, into her glass. The blood reached the rim of the glass, then stopped.

"It's your decision. Either you drink from the true cup of everlasting life, and live forever young, forever beautiful, forever healthy, with strength, agility, and clarity no mortal can ever know…or Mariya tears out your throat and we lap up your filthy slut's blood from the tile floor, and in the end, you'll come back as a ghoul, our Undead bitch for all eternity. So, Jessica Lovejoy, what do you say?"

Jessica watched as a last drop of blood fell from her hand and splashed in the glass.

Bart emptied half a magazine in a vampire standing along a garden wall of a vacant house in the heart of Shelbyville. The vampire screamed and fell. In the garden, Gina and Mel fought with five vampires. Gina had two pinned behind the shed and the wall with her rifle. Three ran at Mel, clawed hands grasping and slashing. Mel drew his rapier and charged. The first one came within striking distance and raised its talons to shred Mel's face. Mel struck the vampire twice with a quick flick-flit of his rapier, and knocked his hand aside with his dagger. The vampire stumbled and fell. Then came the second one. Mel dodged a hook punch from him and slashed across the backs of his ankles, cutting his Achilles tendons. Mel quickly stabbed the vampire in the side and rolled past him. He spun onto his feet, and then lunged, piercing the Midian through the heart. The creature crumbled into ashes. The first and second vampires' superficial wounds had already healed, and they came back at Mel. Mel held them back with quick strikes as they circled around him like wolves on the hunt. Mel remained calm. He knew that they could not circle forever, that sooner or later, one would pounce, followed by the other one. _If I can kill the first one that pounces, it may give the other one enough pause to give me the chance to kill it. I must keep moving, keep giving them little gashes and cuts. Those take energy to heal, and in addition to weakening them slightly, the pain angers them, increasing the chances that one will make a mistake._

The vampire behind him pounced. Mel turned held out his blade, steadying it with his free hand pressed against the flat of it. The point struck just below a rib. The rapier arched. The blade began to penetrate, and the arching smoothed out. The vampire's fierce snarl twisted into a grimace of pain, and it disintegrated. The other vampire tackled Mel to the ground. Mel grabbed the pistol on his left hip and fired it from the holster, blasting a hole through the vampire's pelvis. The vampire rolled off of Mel, clutching its groin and wailing. Mel drew his right-hand pistol and shot it through the head, killing it.

One of the vampire's Gina was holding ate bay leapt over the tool shed and raced towards her. Gina's rifle was out of ammo. She dropped it as the vampire jumped into the air, and came towards her, kicking at her face. She blocked each kick, left-right. The vampire landed, and threw a kick. Gina ducked, and threw a punch, catching the vampire in the nose. The vampire didn't even blink, and punched her hard in the gut. Gina's armored vest softened the blow, but Gina still felt the air knocked out of her lungs. She barely managed to block the clawed swipes the vampire threw at her. It brought a fist back and unleashed a forceful punch. Gina grabbed the arm and used its momentum to twist her attacker around. The pulled the vampire against her. The vampire reached over it's shoulders with both hands and grabbed Gina's head in a crushing grip. Gina pulled out her knife and stabbed it in the chest. The vampire let out a faint gasp, and then keeled over. The second vampire raced across the lawn towards her. Gina clenched her teeth.

"Eat this!"

She drew her pistol and fired away, unloading the clip into the vampire's torso.

"Good work, Miss Vendeitti," Mel panted.

"You okay, Sideshow?"

"Fine. Also, that is the first time someone has ever called me 'Sideshow'-"

"Really?"

"-And I hate it!"

"Oh. Sorry."

Patty kissed Carrie good night.

"Bye," Carrie whispered, smiling.

"Night, babe."

Carrie opened the door, and Patty walked outside.

She reached to the bungee hook on her belt for her keys.

"Evening, Miss Bouvier," purred a male voice from the trees near Carrie's fence

"Who's there?"

A black mist drifted down from top of one of the pine trees, writhing, twisting, and contorting. It landed in front of her, a small black blob. It stretched upwards, reaching six feet in height. The black thing exploded into a flock of bats. The bat's scattered, chirping and fluttering while Patty covered her face with her hand and tried to beat them away with her free hand. The bats congregated before her, forming a solid, shifting mass. The mass became uniformly black and still, and then, Alucard.

"Evening, ma'am."

"Who are you?" Patty barked, her anger masking her fear.

"The Bird of Hermes is my name

Eating my wings to make me tame."

"I am the Vampire Alucard. I come to you now, a servant of evil, acting as an emissary of goodness."

"Huh?"

He held out his hand in front of her face. Patty blinked, and the houses, trees, cars, and streetlamps were gone. She was standing with Alucard in space. Between them lay a luminous white strand, splintering and branching like a tree root.

"I am indeed a real vampire. I am not a lame teenage punk dressing up and playing Undead, or some pervert who gets off drinking blood. I am a corpse that drinks the life from the living."

He grinned, revealing his fangs and making his eyes glow red. Patty recoiled, her cigarette falling from her mouth.

"Powerful vampires such as myself are gifted with prescience. We can see all possible paths that human history will take. However, we cannot see what will certainly happen, only what may. Furthermore, our powers are blocked. Some moments, some people, whole families and centuries lie beyond my sight."

"The Master has risen. He was the first to renounce God and drink the blood of his own kind. His descendants make up two-thirds of the vampire population. He now stalks the night, gathering all evil things to him. He can see one future that is blocked to me. What is in it, I can guess well enough, but the way it begins is the same as all other possible futures."

"What?" Patty asked, her head swimming. _Is this a dream? Vampires? The Master? Cripes, what is all this? It's just to much._

Alucard looked down, his relfective glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

"With Shelbyville and Springfield being overrun with the dead, and the Master declaring himself lord."

Patty took a step backwards, shaking her head. She looked up, and was on Carrie's street once more.


	22. Ubervamps

The vampire ran down the alley with Bart, Nelson, and Millhouse in pursuit. Uter, huffing and panting, brought up the rear. The vampire reached a brick wall.

"Aw, shit!

He looked over his shoulder. The four Hunters came hurtling around the corner, rifles raised. He leapt up onto the wall and began to crawl upwards like a lizard. Nelson flicked the switch for 'burst mode' on his rifle, aimed, and fired. The five shots struck above the vampire's head, cutting into his arms. He yelped and fell to the ground. Bart shouldered his rifle and drew his bowie knife and revolver. Uter caught up with them, wheezing.

"I am not used to zis! I am a veight lifter, not un marathon runner!"

"Quiet, Fritz," Bart said.

He walked up the vampire, Nelson and Millhouse following behind and Uter providing cover. The vampire sat on the ground, leaning against the wall, his arms in his lap, broken and bleeding. Bart pressed the muzzle of his revolver against the vampire's temple.

"Where's the Master at, scuzzball?"

The vampire's eyes moved up to look at Bart. He gave a lopsided grin, and began to chuckle. Millhouse and Nelson looked at each other purplexedly. Bart snarled and shoved his pistol into the vampire's head.

"He's not gonna talk. I say we waste him," Millhouse growled, raising his carbine. Nelson reached out and pressed the barrel down.

"Cool it, Vanhouten."

The vampire gasped. The three Hunters stared, and he began to speak.

"You don't know it…do you?"

"Know what," Bart asked.

"How dead you all are. This very moment…underneath the ground…something's brewing…moving…"

"Where's the First? Where does he sleep?"

"Like I'd tell you. Even if I did, you'd all be dead anyway. The day of the dead will soon dawn!"

Bart frowned. He took a few steps back, keeping his pistol aimed at the vampire. He cocked back the hammer. The vampire watched expectantly. Bart lowered the pistol a bit, and fired into the vampire's left knee. The vampire yelled. Bart fired again, blowing out his right knee, then his shoulders. He fired his two remaining shots into the vampire's stomach. He holstered his pistol, then grabbed the vampire by the collar, pulled him up, and slammed him against the wall.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, asshole! Where-is-the Master!"

"Bite me!"

Bart pressed his bowie knife against the vampire's throat. He looked him in the eye. He slowly drew the knife across his throat, blood squirting all over. He threw the vampire to the ground, and unshouldered his rifle. The vampire struggled to push himself up. Bart unshouldered his rifle and fired a burst into the vampire's chest. The vampire dropped onto his face, and died, crumbling into ashes.

In the shopping district of Shelbyville, the cover of a manhole lifted up and slid onto the road. A young man in a red coat, white jumpsuit, and bowler hat emerged, carrying a cane and whistle. He looked around, and, finding the streets deserted, blew his whistle. Several young men in white jumpsuits, bowlers, and various impromptu weapons. They promptly ran around and lifted the covers off of several more manholes. Ghouls began to climb out of the sewers. Legions of living corpses, some recently deceased, some weeks old, bloated with gas and maggots, some intact, bearing only the four telltale vampire fang marks upon their necks, others fed upon by ghouls prior to death and covered with human bites, some missing entire limbs, faces, or with their abdomens torn open, began to form ranks on the streets. The white-clad vampire's stood at the head of the column, with the vampire in the red coat overseeing them from the sidewalk.

"All ready, Mr. Baddiwad."

"Righteo. Pop, if you please."

A vampire with a boom box nodded, and pressed the button to play. Pink Floyd's "Run Like Hell" began to play.

"March!"

The ghouls began to shamble forwards. The white-clad vampire's led them down the street, dancing, skipping, and tumbling, the vampire in the red coat prancing and spinning his cane like a flamboyant drum major.

He led them to a hardware store. Two ghouls grabbed a shopping cart. The lead vampire hopped in it, pointed at the glass doors, and shouted "Tallyho!" They began to push the cart forward, slowly building momentum. They released the cart, and it smashed into the main doors, shattering them. The cart flipped over. The leader rolled out of the cart and onto his feet.

"Gentlemen," he proclaimed, removing his top hat, "The store is yours!"

The vampires laughed and hoo hooed, leaping and rolling into the store. The ghouls shambled forward, staring with empty eyes.

"Get the lead out, oh my brothers! Grab some stuffywuff, and shove off. Make sure you only crast what's what dorogoy what for our cause, now, good chelloviks."

The vampires lead the ghouls to the tool aisle, and proceeded to hand each one a hammer, pickaxe, sledge hammer, axe, crowbar, shovel, rake, or crowbar. As soon as the aisle was cleared of possible weapons, the lead vampire led them on, prancing and strutting, to the nearest Sprawl-Mart. The ghouls smashed the doors open with their new weapons. He lead them to the gun counter. The vampire's smashed open the gun cases and loaded them, then handed each of them to a ghoul. The vampire's loaded all the ammo in backpacks.

"On to the Big 5!" the lead vampire shouted.

He marched the horde across the parking lot and to the Big 5. They took every gun, knife, bullet, machete, baseball bat, and golf club, then marched to their final stop for the night.

"Aah, the boomboom house. Good an' grand. Droogies, the doors, please?"

The vampires ripped open the gun shop doors. They loaded every pistol, rifle, shotgun, and crossbow, and handed each to a ghoul. Once again, they packed every box of ammunition into their backpacks.

One younger vampire opened the cash register. He reached in, but was wrapped hard on the knuckles by the lead vampire's cane.

"Don't bother with the cutter, little brother. Our type has no need to paper. Come along, step it up now."

With all of the ghouls armed in some way, the leader marched them all back into the sewers.

Lisa leaned up against a dumpster in the alley. She was tired and sore. Her heart throbbed painfully in her chest, and her nostrils were sore from her sharp breaths. She closed her eyes, and slowing brought her breathing under control. She began to chant faintly, a Buddhist "Amitaba". A light appeared within her shut eyes. She began to see grainy, flickering images, as though two tiny projectors were casting light upon the inside of her eyelids.

She saw a sun rise over the Springfield mountains. The sky was red, the sun, a deep crimson. The mountains were blackened by flame, the still-smoldering ashes of trees exhaling trails of black smoke. Black clouds rumbled through the sky.

The city was in ruin. Buildings stood gutted and charred. Mangled corpses of men and beasts lay in the streets. Vultures, crows, flies, and starved, mange-ridden hounds feasted upon the stinking carnage. Pale, eyeless, faceless humanoids lurked in the shadows, speaking in a harsh, guttural tongue. She saw the center of town. The statue of Jedediah Springfield was gone, and in it's place stood the likeness of the Devil, carved in black marble. All around it stood tall wooden stakes. The naked bodies of men, women, and children were impaled upon them. Some were still living, shaking with pain and babbling incoherently as the flies and birds attacked their rotting skin.

The river ran red. Corpses, bones, unidentifiable chunks of flesh floated downstream and into the black sea. Whales, sea turtles, sea lions, dolphins, fish, and sea birds bobbed dead on the surface, rocked by the iron tide.

The shore was strewn with death. Garbage and seaweed coated the bodies of dead humans and animals. A lone figure stood on the shore, staring into the horizon. He turned to face Lisa. He was a young man, with a prominent, aquiline nose, tan skin, and dark hair. Lightning flashed in the dark clouds above, and the man had become transformed. His skin was leprous pale, his head bald and marked with six strange ridges, his ears pointed, and his eyes red, smoldering deep in their sockets. His nose shrunken and upturned, giving him a skeletal appearance.

Lisa's eyes snapped open. A human-like form was approaching through the gloom. Two yellow eyes gleamed in the darkness.

Lisa raised her pistol and fired into the chest. The creature halted, then immediately resumed its approach. Lisa fired again and again, but the monster did not even slow down. She drew her sword and brought in back over her head, and walked backwards out of the alley and out onto the street.

The creature came into the glow of the streetlight. It resembled the vampire man from her vision, and yet, was somehow even less human in appearance. It's mouth was lipless, exposing its mouthful of pointed fangs. It's ears were enormous and bat like, but it was its limbs that gave it its truly ungodly form. Its arms were nearly the length of its entire body, and ended in clawed hands like immense, colorless spiders. It's legs were short and thick, ending in toeless, elephantine feet, and were covered with thick, orange plates. The plates covered it's shoulders and chest as well, and formed gauntlets over it's hideously thing forearms.

Lisa leapt at the creature. It shrieked and sung it's hooked hands. Lisa dodged and rolled past is attacks and struck it on the side. She felt the her jian blade twist and then bounce off of the creature's armored plates. The vampire struck her on the back of the head, sending her flying into the dumpster. Lisa saw stars blink in front of her eyes. She shook her head, and saw the vampire standing over her. It's jaw came unhinged, opening wide as if to swallow her whole. A burst of automatic fire went off, and the grisly freak staggered forward. Lisa crawled around to the other side of the dumpster. Bart, Brian, Nelson, Millhouse, and Uter all stood firing at the creature. Their bullets seemed to have to effect on the creature. It roared and charged towards them.

A small hand extended from between Bart and Millhouse, clutching an enormous revolver. Bart looked and saw that the hand belonged to his younger sister, Maggie.

"Maggie!"

Maggie fired. The revolver's report was deafening, causing Uter and Millhouse to nearly drop their rifles. The shot struck the vampire in the forehead, causing its head to burst open is a shower of flesh and bone. The vampire stumbled but did not fall. Its head began to re-form almost immediately. A water balloon appeared in the air. It struck the vampire's blasted head, and burst. The water inside began to boil and steam. The vampire fell to the ground, shaking and convulsing. The top of its head began to melt like sugar in hot water. The water evaporated in seconds, leaving a charred stump of a neck.

"What the farkbot?" Bart exclaimed, "Maggie, what the hell are you doing here, and-!"

He stopped. Eric, Felicia, Ling, and Gino came walking out of the alley, followed by a reproachful Lisa.

"What's going on?"

Maggie shrugged.

"Well, I heard you guys are having some trouble. Five more soldiers couldn't hurt, right?"

"Not if those 'soldiers' are fourteen and eleven years old and my siblings!" Lisa yelled, "You could have been killed out here! And we're you get that gun?"

"Krusty let me have it if I promised to change my tune at the FCC hearing."

"Yoink," Lisa said, snatching the huge pistol from her younger sister.

"Lis! I can't believe this! We saved you guys from that superfreak, and you're mad we're out past our bedtime! Freakin' hypocrites!"

"Maybe we could use them," Brian mused out loud, "After all, that was a very accurate one-handed shot, especially-."

"Hrrrmmm," Lisa growled.

"But…yeah."

A horrible shriek echoed down the streets. Nelson aimed his flashlight, and his light revealed another supervampire emerging from a storm drain. It began to race to towards them. Gino dropped to one knee and fired his .338 Lapua. The shot hit dead in the vampire's heart. It stopped, bleeding profusely, the high powered round having breeched its organic armor. Gino pulled the bolt back and forth. He fired again, striking centimeters from his original shot. Bart switched into full automatic and took aim with his .50 Beowulf. He fired, his stream of shots decapitating the vampire. The vamp dropped to its knees, blood trickling from it's neck. Eric took aim with a bright plastic gun and fired a stream of water. The water cauterized the creature's neck wound, preventing it from regenerating its head.

"Holy water-filled super soakers. Nice one," Bart said.

"I got the idea from 'Lost Boys'," Maggie admitted.

"Still, pretty resourceful. Not a lot of people would look for vampire killing tips in a Joel Schumacher flick."

Brian walked over to the second dead vampire and looked at it's severed head. He took out his flashlight and shone it on the disembodied cranium. The vampire's eyes looked up at him. He drew his .45 and shot it. The creature's head crumbled into ashes. The body stood up, and Brian aimed at it. It took a few steps, then burst into flames and fell to the ground before being consumed.

Lisa looked down at the other vampire's corpse. Brian set his foot on it, applying pressure to its armored chest. He took out his bowie knife and stabbed it in the chest. His knife bounced back.

"Not even a scratch. Try getting a steak through that."

"And I thought it was going to be tough having to blast their heart, pop the head off, and then shoot," Nelson said, "You can't even get through that stuff."

Bart pulled out his forty-four _Horsekiller_ and fired it into the vampire's chest at point-blank. The bullet broke through the shell and into the creature's chest. A thin trickle of blood issued from the wound.

"So at least it's not impenetrable," Lisa said.

"It's like one of our jackets," Nelson said, "High-velocity crap like that .338 LM and a forty-four can bust it."

"Yeah, but at least with a human they stay down if your shot goes through their armor. These guys, they're impossible to kill hand-to-hand."

"These kids were smart in using holy water. It seems that we have only the power of God to defend us against these."

"The professor would probably want to have a look at this thing," Lisa said, "Let's take it with us."

"I'll get the car," Nelson said.

"Say," Bart said to Maggie, "Just how did you guys get here?"

"Seras drove us."

"Seras doesn't have a car."

"Well, I kinda hotwired Millhouse's."

"Sweet Jimminy Crickets, no," Millhouse screamed.

They searched for his car for several minutes. They found it wrapped around a lamppost.

"I just made my last payment on that! NOOOOO!" Millhoused bellowed, falling to his knees and screeching at the stars.

"I'm sorry, I'm just not used to driving on the wrong side of the road, especially with a stick shift," Seras tried in vain to explain.


	23. Oh, You Pretty Things!

Bart drove Lisa, Gina, Maggie, Eric, Gino, Ling, and Brian back to Springfield; Millhouse was forced to ride back with Nelson in his squad car.

Bart turned on the radio. Alice Cooper was playing his deep cut of the night, a live version of David Bowie's 'Oh! You Pretty Things!'. Brian lit up a cigarette and leaned back in his seat. Lisa coughed loudly, and Brian, with a weary sigh, snapped the cigarette in half and threw it out of the window.

"Thank you."

"I guess my lungs will be thanking _you_ later. Now I'm just tired, and feel like I need a stiff drink and a warm shower."

"Amen to that, Brian," Bart said.

A slight buzzing was heard.

"That's my cell," Brian said, reaching into his coat, "Professor Callahan. Mulder, what's going on? The university? Christos. We'll be right over."

He pressed the button to end the call, and tucked his cell back into his coat.

"What's wrong." Lisa asked, seeing the terror in Brian's face.

"We have to go to Springfield University. They've attacked one of the dorms.

They reached the dorm in half an hour. The building was surrounded with yellow tape and police baracades, and all the surviving students had been evacuated. Dolph and Jimbo were stounding out front, and waved Brian and the others through. Jimbo told them that Mulder was on the fifth floor.

Mulder was standing in front of the elevator doors, waiting for them.

"Come on."

They followed him down the hall. He stopped in front of the open bathroom door. The light was not on. He reached inside and flicked the switch. Ling started to cry. Gina wretched and said, "Oh God!" Eric clapped his hand over his move and began to heave. He gagged and coughed, vomit spewing from his mouth.

"Bad, eh?"

"Yeah," Brian said as he walking forward into the bathroom, "Sure is."

The walls and floors were covered with blood. Headless corpses hung by their feet from the stalls, tied up with shower curtains. Brian felt his foot hit something as he walked forward in a horrified daze. He looked at the floor. A young man lay on the floor. His head had been cut off. His genitals had been severed and placed in his mouth. A mess of fray electronic wires stuck out from his eye sockets.

Brian shuddered, and then, he saw the sinks. He walked over to them, and swayed. He steadied himself against the sink and looked away.

"Jesus Christ."

He forced himself to look back. The sinks were filled with blood. Severed fingers, eyes, ears, and privates floated in the gore. Brian started to cry. Lisa wrapped her arms around him, and set his head on her shoulder.

Mulder looked at the two for a moment, moved by their humanity even in the sea of evil. Lisa looked at him with a harsh glare, as though she held him guilty for Brian's grief and the utter carnage around them.

"He doesn't need to see any more of this. Theses were his students, his kids!"

"Right," Mulder said, nodding. Lisa lead Brian outside, where Gina was watching the four children. Once Lisa and Brian had left, he showed Bart the showers.

In each stall lay a pyramid of human skulls. The skulls were dark and still bore pieces of red muscle and blood-they were clearly fresh. Carefully-removed arteries had been placed in each of the top skulls' mouths. It looked as though they had thin, red roots pouring from their mouths.

"And," Mulder began, walking over to a section of the showers marked off with police tape. Bart saw that there was something large near the back wall that had been covered with a white cloth. The back wall had been covered as well, _probably_, he thought, _by the CSI guys or something_. Grabbed a both pieces of cloth, and said,

"The grand finale."

He ripped down both sheets. Bart's upper lip curled at the sight. A student had been crucified on two wooden boards. His head had been removed, and replaced with the head from a statue of Christ, eyes pierced by ingots and painted in vaudeville blackface. The man's abdomen and thorax had been cut open and dissected. His abdomen was stuffed with skulls, while the only organ remaining in his chest, his heart, had been painted black and stabbed with dozens of tiny plastic cocktail swords. Behind him, an inverted cross had been painted in blood. Beside it, in blood as well, were the words,

"_My Body, My Mind, My Heart, and My Soul_"

"_The Wolf shall devour The Lamb."_

"_When There is no more room in Hell, the Dead shall walk the Earth. And Hell Overflows!"_

"_Don't be happy-worry!_"

"_Jesus Christ has forsaken the Earth and fled to Heaven. God is Dead. And the Son of Perdition Lives. The rivers of blood shall water the seeds of sin, and a new earth shall blossom. Hail to the Prince of Lies! All Glory and Honor to the No-Life King!"_

"How many are dead?"

Bart and Fox spun around. Seras stood in the doorway.

"It's hard to tell. At least fifty. It's hard to tell with the bodies all mashed up like this," Mulder answered.

Brian reappeared behind Seras. She stepped aside and let him in. He had a strangely distant look to him. He walked past Bart and Mulder, his eyes closed the whole time. up to the message-covered wall. He set both hands over the words '_No-Life King_", and slowly slid down, his closed eyelids fluttering slightly. Lisa looked in through the doorway, biting the back of her thumb. Brian fell backwards. Bart tried to run over to him, but Mulder stopped him.

"It's okay. I've seen these before. He's in a dream state."

Brian stirred and sat up. He opened his eyes and inhaled slowly. He looked tired and careworn. Lisa ran to him and helped him up.

"Are you alright?" she asked in a desperate whisper.

"I know who did this."

"The vampires working for the Master," Mulder stated.

"No!" Brian yelled, suddenly angry. "I mean, which vampire did it! One of the vampires that work for the First! One vampire did this! One!"

He took a deep breath, and looked into Lisa's eyes for strength. Hugged her, then looked at Bart.

"It was Jessica, Bart."

Part II

"Bullplop. You're tippin' man."

"I'm not lying. She's joined them."

"Shut up."

"I mean it Bart, she's a vampire."

"Shut up!"

Bart punched him. Brian stumbled backwards into the wall. Bart began to paced rapidly, screaming and cursing.

"I mean…God! Oh God! Oh…shit! Oh jeez, she can't be…! GAh!" He punched the wall, cracking one of the tiles. He staggered out into the hall, ranting and shouting.

"Bart," Gina called, "Bart, what's wrong?"

Bart grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. He starred into her eyes angrily. He saw the fear and sadness in her dark eyes. His began to sob. Gina pulled his head to her shoulder, letting him lean into her and cry.

Brian stood against the bathroom wall, shaking his head, while Lisa stood in the doorway, watching her brother cry. Seras crouched beside her, grimacing with pity and stress. Mulder's cell phone rang.

"Mulder. Hey Sculley. Oh, sure. We'll be right over."

_Professor Frink's Laboratory…_

Professor Frink re-played the video for the group. An automated pistol fired a shot at the chest of the decapitated supervampire.

"As you can see, from the video, the 9mm is clearly insufficient, as are all smaller calibers, _bur-hey_! But here, with the 357 SIG, we see that, in full metal jacket, like the movie, what with the Kubrick, and the _Kubrick stare_, we see that it can penetrate the chestal plates at one meter, two meters, three, four, five, _dya-hoy_, and up to thirty meters. Beyond that, it begins to get lodged in the scales, and eventually becomes deflected."

He pressed the chapter button on the DVD player.

"The forty S and W is performed much poorer, consistently penetrating the armor and piercing heart within ten meters. The forty-five auto performed only slightly better. The best handgun calibers, in short, what with the summation, were the ten millimeter, the forty-five Colt, the 357 SIG, the three-fifty-seven magnum, the forty-four magnum, and the four-fifty-four Casull."

Lisa raised her hand.

"What? What is it?"

"How did you conduct multiple tests with just one body?"

"The bullet wounds healed once the bullets were removed. Okay? Enough with the questions, Little Miss Smart _Poyson_."

He turned off the display screen. Sculley flicked the switch for the lights.

"As you can see, these ghoulies need considerable _chutzpah _to re-deaderate. Which is why I've been feverishly at work making these-!"

He held up a plastic sandwhich bag filled with cartridges.

"Tungsten steel armor-peircing rounds. Just load these littles doozies into your armament of choice and _pow! Bang! With the hurting! Gloyven!_"

He allowed himself a few seconds to calm down, and then continued.

"_Bur-hey_. Where was I? Oh yes. I'll have those ready in about two days. As I said, I'm working feverishly."

He retreated to the back of his laboratory, then returned after several minutes pushing a covered cart. He removed the white sheet cover, and picked up one of the guns from the cart.

"Mrs. Sideshow Bob was kind enough to bring me this little doozy," he said, drawing out the last word, "It's a Soviet Avtomat Podvodnyy Spetsialny, an assault weapon designed for underwater combat. It fires special 5.66mm by 120mm round through an unrifled barrel. The bullet is especially long, because, due to hydrodynamics, a bullet-shaped projectile would be very inaccurate. There isn't any rifling, because, in water, the projectile would be held in place by the water pressure on all sides, _hoy_."

He set the rifle down, and picked up a similar one. Unlike the first, which was dark plastic, it was shining stainless steel.

"Working off of the Russian design I created a firearm especially designed for dealing with those nighttime-walking nasties. The Frink Automatic Anti-Freak Autopistol, or FAAA, fires similar 6mm by 120mm bolt. The bolt has a special high-speed steel core and penetrating tip encased in pure silver. The steel tip alloys the projectile to breech these ubervamps' scaly armor, and the silver acts to enhance the lasting power of the wound should they remove the bolt. The long projectile, if shot into the heart, remains lodged in, unlike more high-power rounds which could fly right out the other side, allowing the beastie to regenerate, by _glavin_. You can then cut their head of, yadda yadda _hey_. Oh, and, I must add, 'cause I'm a proud man, but the bolt is pseudorifled by magnetic forces, generated by this hydrogen power cell, that spin it, and turn it, _the spinning, children, the spinning!_"

Bart and Gina looked at each other confusedly.

"And it's a mystery why he's single?"

Bart laughed. _Gina's funny. At least she has a sense of humor. Stupid Jessica could only laugh at someone's pain. Jessica…God, where are you? Why? _


	24. Waiting for the worms

Waiting for the Worms

"Grady," Julio called from the kitchen. No answer came.

"Grady!..._Grady!_"

"What?"

"J-you have not taken the garbage out, like I asked, like, a thousand times already!"

"Sorry, I'll get to it."

"_Dios mios_, j-you know, sometimes, j-you are such a little brat! I swear to God!"

He looked at the garbage can, overflowing with refuse. A few black flies were already beginning to circle around it.

"Jesus."

Cringing, he tied the bag and pulled it out of the bin.

"I swear, this is 'posed to both of our apartments, but I always end up doing all the work.

Holding the bag as far from his body as possible, he tip-toed to the door and opened it. A stranger stood in his way.

Julio was about to yell at him for being in his way when the man raised a pistol in his face. Julio dropped the bag and began to back up. The man stepped into the apartment. He was young, possibly early thirties, with dark tousled hair and rectangular glasses atop his prominent nose. Two young women entered from behind him. One was a young blonde in a priest's garb, minus the Roman collar, the other a young Asian girl in a nun's habit, carrying a sword..

"Kill him, Callahan."

The young man grimaced. He stuck his tongue between his teeth and fired. The shot splattered the opposite wall with Julio's blood. He fell over backwards.

"Finish him," the nun growled, her eyes mad with bloodlust.

He unsheathed his broadsword. He held it with the point down, and raised it high over Julio chest. Grady rushed in, stopping at the doorway.

"Oh jeez! Julio!"

He drove the blade downwards. He made a growling sound in his throat, as though his very soul was being torn. Grady stared in horror. Slowly, a shrill scream came from his gaping mouth. The nun swore in Japanese. She drew her katana and threw it at Grady, spearing him through the chest. His scream faded. The leapt over to him, and, in one quick spin, pulled the sword from his chest and decapitated him with it. His headless body fell to the ground.

"May God have mercy on your souls. Amen."

"Amen."

"…Amen…."

That was not their only stop for the evening.

The SheShe Lounge, Patty and her friends' hangout, was the next to taste their righteous fury.

Outside, they prepared they weapons. Yumie was going to use Brian's Tommy gun.

"Yeah, just cock it, turn the switch all the way, and you're good to go."

Brian finished loading the magazines for his AR-15. Heinkel looked disdainfully at two women kissing outside of the bar.

"I hope that one deviant sister of Marge's isn't here. It'd be a damn bother to explain it to her. Or that fat Protestant sow Selma."

"She's in counseling," Brian answered, "After all that she's gone through, she's a wreck. Thankfully, with drugs and therapy, she'll forget it all."

"Shame she couldn't get therapy for her perversion," Yumie snarled, gripping the _tsuka_ of her katana, "Damned freak. I say, she deserved all that and still deserves more."

"She has a lot of hatred in her heart. Hatred can only be healed with love. She knows that, but thinks that her perverted brand of it is substitute for real love. I'm not arguing that she is, in fact, a good person, but is a troubled soul."

"We're all troubled," Heinkel snapped, "I got shot in the head by a vampire and can't remember half my childhood! Yumie was gutted like a fish by a Hellsing freak's razor wires! But that doesn't make us turn to drugs, or sex, or idolatry, or atheism! We embrace God for giving us the pain, for allowing us to share in the redemptive suffering of Christ! You flee from pain, Callahan, and that is why, despite all you wisdom and alleged piety, you are still a coward!"

Brian armed his rifle loudly.

"Coward? Coward! Before you judge my fear, try staring into the pits of Hell! Then, see how brave you can be. Call me a coward? I'll show you I'm not a coward!"

Heinkel scoffed and looked at the bar's door.

"It's all clear."

"Good! Let's kill those carpet-munching whores!"

Heinkel smiled.

"That's more like it! Let's go!"

They exited the car. The bouncer saw Brian first, and then she saw their guns.

"Hey! You can't come in here with-!"

Yumie tossed a shuriken at the bouncer, hitting her in the forehead. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and she keeled over. They kicked open the doors. Several women near the entrance saw them, while most of the others ignored them.

"Peace be with you all," Heinkel proclaimed.

They opened fired. The women near the entrance had already begun to run. They were cut down first. Brian aimed into the crowd and fired, screaming. He watched as his high-power rounds tore them, human beings, into pieces. He kept firing, the gun shaking with its rapid firing. The magazine spent itself. He blinked, then removed the magazine, placed it in his pocket, and loaded a fresh one. He proceeded to follow Heinkel down into the dance floor to kill the crippled survivors.

In the back parking lot, those who thought that they had escaped found that they had been mistaken. Yumie stood atop of a car in front of them, katana bare in the pale light of the mercury lamps.

"_Shinbattumaru_! _Shin-den!_"

She leapt down. Screams filled the air as limbs and heads tumbled to the ground. Bodies fell to the ground in halves, shaking and convulsing.

Their next target was One Night Stan's, and then the Springfield Pornoplex. After the deviants came the false prophets and heretics: the ministers of the First Church of Springfield, the Episcopal Church, and the Pentecostal Church. By the end of the evening, the sirens were incessant. Brian sat in the back seat, silent, frozen with shock.

"I was the same way after I went on my first assassination mission. A Muslim cleric, and his whole family. It'll where off."

They dropped him off at his house. Brian staggered up the driveway. He fumbled with his keys, opened the door, and stumbled in, not even bothering to shut it behind himself. He walked over to the bar in his living room and grabbed the nearest bottle. He collapsed on the couch with it.

He woke up to the answering machine.

"Brian? Where are you? It's Lisa. Why's your cell off? Anyway, call me back. Fr. Nell's blown a gasket. The freaks have killed more than a hundred people and set fires all over town. We need you over here."

Brian crawled on his hands and knees to the phone and picked it up.

" 'Ello…?"

"Brian? That you?"

"Yeah. Lis', I need a ride. I'm not doin' too good."

"Are you drunk? For the love of pound cake, Brian, this isn't the time!"

"Sorry."

Lisa arrived within ten minutes in Bart's car. She drove them over to the rectory. Inside, the entire group, including Heinkel and Yumie, sat watching the TV. The morning news reported the night's damage.

"This is Kent Brockman. Usually, Springfield riots have been peaceful ones: the good people and police sit at home, while the rioters focus on looting and defacing public property. But not this time. More than two hundred people have been killed in one of the bloodiest nights in Springfield history since the town foolishly decided to host the premiere of _Gigli_, which resulted in fifty-seven fatalities."

Fr. Sean turned the TV off.

"God above. We need to act. Our excursions into Shelbyville haven't yielded any results. But we have been leaving out one key place: the sewers."

"Carpenters rules-," Lisa began.

"I know," Fr. Nell sighed, interrupting her, "'Never pursue an unknown number of Undead underground, into caves, or buildings of unknown size and rooms.' But we have no choice. At this rate, they'll be takin' the city within days. We strike tonite! Full force!"

"The kids too?"

"Yes, the kids!"

"Father, no!" Marge screamed, "I'm not letting my children go down into the sewers filled with vampires and monster!"

"Why not?" Francesca snapped, "My Gino can go. He can handle himself perfectly!"

"Well, no one's ever said you're a good mom!"

Francesca hopped to her feet and flicked open a stiletto.

"What'd you say to me, blue hair?"

"Sit down Francesca," Bob said softly.

"She called me a bad mother!"

"That does it," Marge yelled, rolling up her sleaves and marching over to Francesca.

Francesca tried to run at Marge, but Bob jumped to his feet and restrained her. Homer tackled his wife to the ground and wrestled to hold her down.

"Let go of me Homer!"

"Honey, calm down!"

"Oh, knock it off!"

Fr. Nell picked up a shotgun and fired it into the roof. The group fell silent.

"We haven't a choice. Maggie and Gino have both shown themselves to be capable fighters. Eric, Ling, and Felicia, not as much so, and Felicia is a special case in that she is neither Catholic nor are her parents Hunters. Those three are not to come with us, but they can stay behind and guard your sisters, Marge. Patty especially is in terrible shape, physically and mentally, and spiritually as well."

There was a knock at the door. Fr. Sean walked over to the door, hand on his pistol. He opened the door a crack, peered through, and then stepped back and opened it fully. Corporal Ferguson stepped in smartly, and saluted.

"My men are ready and awaiting order, vicar."

Fr. Nell nodded.

"Tonight we're launching a full-scale assault on the Shelbyville sewer systems."

Lisa set her hand on Brian's knee. _What's wrong, Brian? Why are you so distant again?_

That night, a column of five armoured vehicles rolled across the hills. They cut through the Springfield foothills, and then entered Shelbyville in the industrial district.

Gina sat between Bart and Seras on the ride over. She looked at Seras' oversized Harkonnen rifle in bewilderment.

"How to fire that thing?"

Seras smiled.

"I aim, and pull the trigger."

Gina shook her head, smiling.

"You don't feel the weight at all?"

"Nope. It's like lifting up a throw pillow."

Gina looked the rifle up and down. _That thing must be eight feet long_.

"You don't feel any recoil?"

"None," Seras replied. She paused, then said, "Not that you wouldn't. Walter said it'd probably be fatal for…you know, a human to fire it. Like a rifle at least. Maybe mounted it could work, but it breachloads, and…um, yeah."

Gina laughed.

"You know, you're alright kid. I thought you'd be a creepy bloodsucker like the rest."

Seras looked slightly offended. "Thanks, I guess."

"Well, no, I just, you know, wondered why you and Alucard are pretty decent but all the others just want to kill everyone."

Seras thought briefly, then said, "Well, Master's not exactly decent."

Gina shrugged.

"I think the reason is that its choice. I just do what I know to be good. I couldn't even drink blood for months."

"How'd you get by?"

"Barely. Then I drank some of his, and…"

"You mean Alucard's?"

"No. Pip's."

"Pip?"

"A man. He was dying, and he asked me to."

Gina nodded, understandingly.

"You loved him."

Seras looked at Gina, then looked off mistily.

"I guess. I hardly had time to. By the time I realized that I did, I was holding his body in my arms."

Seras sighed heavily.

"You don't know what it's like, drinking somebody else's blood. Absorbing their very life's essence. I can hear him. I just close my eyes and try, and every thing he ever saw plays before my eyes. Everything he ever heard, I hear it in my ears. Every thought echoes inside my head. Master said that it was his essence. Integra called it his 'genetic memories'. Whatever they are, I have them stuck in me. For every person since him too."

Bart looked over at Seras.

"Hey."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you really think that Jessica did it?"

Seras was speachless.

"Bart," Gina said, trying to calm him down.

"What would make her do it?"

"Bart, you don't know-!"

"She didn't show at work today, Gina! She wasn't at home, she didn't answer her cell phone, her friend's didn't know where she was!"

"Maybe they did and didn't want to tell you," Gina suggested.

"Or maybe Jessica's car was parked at the Squidport with a several overdue meter tickets on the widow!"

Bart sat back and crossed his arms.

"She did it. God!" I mean, she just…like an animal…"

The armored caravan slowed to a halt.

"Fall out!"

Bart and Gina climbed out of the transport. They met up with Fr. Sean and the others, who were standing in front of the growing lines of Hellsing troops.

"Alright!" Corporal Ferguson shouted, "You have been briefed as to the point of this mission. We are to infiltrate the city sewer systems. We have reason to believe that the sewers are filled with ghouls, and possibly more dangerous Undead, including vampires and lycanthropes. It is also possible that you may encounter the so-called 'supervampires' that were encountered two nights ago. In preparation for such encounters, you have all been equipped with steel cored, blessed silver rounds and military-grade machetes. Also, every third man has been equipped with our new bolt guns. To make it very clear, said supervampires cannot be killed unless their heart is penetrated, and their head is then severed and the skull shattered."

"We'll take the D-2 tunnel south until it intersects K-5, at which point we'll divide up, and each squad shall take the pre-assigned route. Our target is the abandoned cluster of pipelines and tunnels underneath the library. Our goal is to surround the target, and then charge in. There will be no survivors!"

He raised his rifle.

"In the name of God, the impure souls of the living dead will be banished into eternal damnation. Amen."

"Amen!" The troops shouted in unison.

"Forward!"

They approached the nearest opening to the sewer. A Nelson shone his spotlight down into darkness. A ghoul looked up, hissing, its milky eyes flashing. Several more ghouls clambered into few, while even more moaning and hissed from the shadows.

"Grenade," Nelson said, holding out his hand. A Hellsing soldier removed one from his bandolier and slapped it into Nelson's palm. Nelson bit off the ring and tossed it down. Another Hellsing soldier quickly slid the manhole cover back into place before the grenade detonated. They heard a faint 'boom!", and the manhole covered rattled. The soldier pulled the cover off, and Nelson checked the sewers bellow with his torch.

"All clear. Go!"

The soldiers hopped down, carbines and shotguns ready. Nelson, Dolph, and Jimbo followed them, choosing to climb down the ladder rather than risk injury.

Beyond the blast radius of the grenade, the sewer walkways were packed with ghouls. Drawn by the noise and light of the explosion, they crowded the walkways, effectively blocking the three Hunters and nine Hellsing regulars.

"Open fire!"

The ghouls wailed and crumbled into dust as they were torn to pieces by high-powered 5.56mm rounds and twelve gauge buckshot at point-blank range.

"This is like a frickin' turkey shoot," Dolph shouted over the gunfire, "Shoot, reload, shoot, reload, these dumb fucks keep coming, we keep killin' em-it's almost too easy."

"Easier than wastin' squirrels with a BB gun!" Nelson laughed, a stream of his bullets killing six ghouls in a row."

The ghouls were slowly pushed back. The group split into two a drove them back further, clearing the next three manholes. Gina, Bart, Brian, and Seras dropped down, followed by Millhouse, Uter, Kearney, Lisa, Homer, Marge, The Terwilligers, Mel, Fr. Sean, Maggie, Heinkel and Yumie, and the remaining Hellsing troops.

They continued down the dark, slimy tunnels. For what flet like hours in the dark subterranean abyss, they didn't encounter a single ghoul, nor did they hear one's shuffling footsteps or rasping moan.

They reached the juncture. The group split into four in order to take the believed vampire stronghold. Bart, Gina, Seras, and twelve Hellsing soldiers. Gina was armed with one of the professor's new bolt guns. Bart decided to talk to one of the Hellsing troops.

"So, what's yer name?"

"Lieutenant Geoffrey Watkins, 4th Hellsing Anti-Freak Division," he answered smartly, pronouncing lieutenant in the British fashion, as 'left-tenant'.

Bart laughed.

"Okay, at ease, soldier. So, how'd you get in with Hellsing?"

"Well, my whole family's been in the milit'ry as far back as the Boer War. Hellsing has access to all the personal record of every individual in the armed forces, and searches them for possible recruits. They thought that I was suitable, and soon I was given some tests, and then, one day, Sir Integra confronted me herself and extended an invitation to join her organization."

"And you did?"

"Twice the pay, complete tax exemption, free room and board, health and dental, you'd have to be crazy not to. At least, until you hear about the vampires."

Bart laughed, his voice echoing down the hallow tunnels. Gina shushed him. Bart quieted down, but was still chortling. Geoffrey started laughing. A hand speeding through the air, and Geoffrey's head was sent flying into the wall of the tunnel. The soldiers shouted and pointed their weapons. A young woman stood in the light of their mounted flashlights. The soldiers opened fire. The woman leapt over their shots and into their ranks. With a single lashing of her arm she sent three men flying into the wall. She swiped one with her clawed hand, splattering his face on his comrades. She punched him, her fist splitting his chest in two before the force of her blow sent his body flying into the ranks of his fellows, knocking them to the ground. The she-vampire looked over her shoulder. A shining bolt came flying towards her. In struck her in the spine, just between the shoulders. She whimpered and dropped to her knees. Another bolt came, and then another, until she looked like an enormous porcupine. She fell over.

Bart stood with his assault rifle pointed at her, finger on the trigger.

"You missed her heart, Gina."

"He told me two."

"Who?"

Footsteps echoed in the bleak corridors. Bart pointed the light on the end of his rifle, and saw Alucard.

"I did."

He stepped over the dead and wounded troops, and picked the girl up in his arms. Bart saw her face, and dropped his rifle in shock.

"Jessica."

Her eyes moved slowly to look at him. They gleamed red in the bright glare of the LEDs.

A radio buzzed.

"Gamma team? This is alpha team, over."

Bart wanted over to the dead lieutenant's body.

"This is Rattler, over."

"Rattler? Oh, young Mr. Simpson," answered the voice of one of the Hellsing squad leaders, "Where's Lt. Watkins?"

Bart looked down at the man's corpse.

"Dead."

"Good God, Simpson, what happened?"

"A vampire attacked. We've taken her hostage though. She's…someone useful."

Jessica sighed painfully in Alucard's arms.

"What's the body count?"

"Three for sure, about six really messed up, three just got a few scrapes. Gina and I are fine."

"Bugger all. Alright, Simpson, pull out. There's nothing down here."

"What?"

"I can't believe this," Gina sighed.

"The main area was empty. Just a bunch of bodies and bloody ghouls. We'll see you on the surface. Alpha leaders, over and out."

"Over and out, Alpha leader."

Bart looked at Jessica. Gina set a hand on his shoulder, and led him down the tunnel. Alucard looked down on her and grinned toothily.


	25. Dead Men Walking

The group sat sullen around the bar. Moe scratched his balding head and adjusted his black eye patch. Bob drained his martini and coughed.

"Another one, Hugh. European six parts gin to one part vermouth ratio, stirred, not shaken, with a twist of lemon."

"Right boss," the ruddy barkeep croaked.

Gina rubbed Bart's shoulder as he sobbed into the bar top, his head surround by emptied beer bottles. She tried to lift him up, and he threw his arms around her, nearly knocking her to the ground.

"A little help!"

Skinner and Father Sean took Bart by each arm and drug him out to Bart's car. Skinner took Bart's keys and drove off.

Skinner looked over at Bart. He was leaning up against the window, his eyes red and blurred. He frowned and cleared his throat.

"Bart."

"Eat my…," he started, but started to heave and vomited slightly on himself, "…shorts."

"Bart, I've known you for nearly twenty years. I've seen you grow up. And the boy who I thought would end up in a juvenile corrective facility…well, actually, you did end up in the penitentiary, I was right about that…but seeing you with a job and a modest criminal record of two DUI's, a drunk and disorderly and one assault charge, a honest job, religion, a focus in life, a beautiful girl, and courage rare even amongst hardened soldiers, makes me able to say that I am indeed proud of you."

"Gent bent, Skin-rash!"

Bart collapsed in his chair.

_That boy. Not a boy anymore. A man. One of the men who'll inherit the earth when my generation is through, something that soon may be. How well have we raised these children, these bastards conceived in the midst of Beatles and cannabis-induced lovemaking. How well have we baby-boomers prepared these children, or, in our mad rush for revolution and reform, did we destroy the very things that have allowed man to survive as human beings, not just to survive. For I learned in 'Nam that not all homo sapiens are human beings, and not all male homo sapiens are men. I fear that we've crippled his and his younger siblings' generations, lead them astray turned them loose before we could see the error of our ways._

"_The history of the human race has been marked by man's oscillations between extremes. Between freedom and security; between peace at the cost of stagnation and war at the cost of human life and beauty; and between hardship and morality to prosperity and corruption. Man will never find a solution, and all proposed solutions are but compromises that are doomed to expire, leaving mankind to once more cycle between the two poles, all at the cost of beauty, life, and human souls."_

_Brian said that. He's a smart young man. But even he's been touched by the evil the Revolution has wrought, and has to drown his woes in booze in the vain hope of dissolving his guilt in alcohol. He could have been a leader if he'd escaped, but he's been morally crippled by his encounters with sin. Bart, conversely, while hardly having lived a sinless life, has committed his sins out of whimsy and passion and rarely malice, never Brian's self-destructive desire to discover the nature of evil by embodying it. He has no long-lasting guilt, just goes to confession and then back to the party. But he's too willful, too anti-authoritarian, too-slacker to ever be a leader. He'd take up the sword and lead men into the fray, but after the dust had died, he'd never take up the scepter and instruct men on how to rebuild a better world. He shirks from responsibility when he senses that it's responsibility._

They arrived at Bart's house. Skinner got out with his 1911A1, and, after finding the cost clear, helped Bart up to his apartment.

"You sleep this off, Bart."

"Yeah, thanks Spanky."

Skinner flinched. His nickname given to him by his mother made him physically ill upon hearing it. Anything involving his mother ended the normal stream of rational thought in his mind, drowning his thoughts in an echoing shriek of 'Seymour!'.

He walked down to the car, and drove back to the Maison Derriere.

Inside, Bart groped for the light switch. He staggered into the living room and collapsed on the couch. He closed his eyes, waking dreams swimming through his mind. Life melted into crystallized dreams, the mummified remnants of events known as memories. _"The price of remembering is the pain that each memory brings"_

The doorbell rang. He heard it echoing and gurgling, as though underwater. He opened his eyes. The pale light of pre-morning shone through the shutters. He had no sense of how long he'd slept, but, after seeing the size of the pool of spittle he'd created in his sleep, he decided that he'd been out for several hours. He walked to the door and set his eye near the peephole. Gina stood outside.

"Bart?"

He opened the door.

"Hey Gina-"

She threw her arms around him, holding him tight.

It was three in the morning. The Maison Derriere was nearly empty. The band had packed up and gone home, and the shows were over. Only a few weary dancers remained, performing a striptease to an old cassette of "Heart of Glass" by Blondie.

In the bar, only the Hunters, a half-dozen drooling perverts, and two flamboyant pimps remained.

Francesca rubbed Bob's shoulder's comfortingly. Bob finished his fifth martini.

"No more, Hugh."

"Don't worry, I ain't got any. You and your freaky cousin sucked up all the vermouth."

Mel, who was seated a good distance away from his cousin, separated by three empty stool, perked up upon hearing the bartender insult him.

"I am not f…f-rrr-eakky! I am d-rrr-unk!" he slurred, swaying on the spot. Bob sighed and massaged his temple. His cellphone began to ring, and he took it from his pocket and answered.

"Falena. Oh, it's you Wulfe. What? Close to cracking? We'll be right over. No, Bart went home. Skinner drove him, and Gina went after them to stay with him. Yes, I'll call Skinner."

He closed his cellphone.

"Jessica is close to cracking. Let's get the troops together."

Nelson knocked on a backroom of the Maison Derriere. Lisa and Brian stood behind him, waiting impatiently.

"Millhouse," Lisa called, "Millhouse, it's time to leave!"

They heard only panting and a woman giggling. Nelson struck the door with his fist.

"Van Houten! Get your scumbag butt out here! Quite screwing that slut and let's go!"

There was silence, and then Millhouse answered.

"Just gimme a minute!"

Inside the room, Millhouse dressed himself hurriedly, while Mariko leaned back in the bed, arms behind her head.

"Thanks Mari," said windedly, kisses her quickly.

"No problem big guy. You go kick some ass."

"Thanks Mariko."

He pulled his shirt over his head and started to rush to the door.

"Ahem?"

He paused.

"Oh, right."

He pulled three hundred dollars from his wallet and set them on the table by the door. Mariko smiled and blew a kiss.

"Go get 'em tiger."

Millhouse stepped out into the hall. Lisa looked at him-his cheeks red, face sweaty, hair tousled, clothes disheveled-and sighed. She walked away, shaking her head in disgust. Millhouse grinned sheepishly.

"Come on, lucky stiff, let's go," Nelson said, handing Millhouse his carbine."

_Professor Frink's Laboratory…_

The professor lead them through his darkened lab and into an underground bomb shelter. In a giant gleaming cage lit by small spotlights was Jessica. Heinkel and Yumie sat outside the cage. Yumie was holding a bloody power drill and grinning evilly.

Bob opened the cage and walked inside. Jessica hung limply from her shackled wrists, head hanging to her chest. Bob advanced upon her, and with the speed of a cobra she flew forward. Bob froze, his face placid. Jessica's chains went taut, and her snapping maw stopped a mete millimeter from Bob's nose. She snarled, her once dark eyes now deep red. She sneered, then, with the same suddenness of her attack, her face shifted to a childish grin. She giggled.

"Pretty cool, ain'tcha Bob?"

Bob grinned softly.

"I figured that your chains were only two meters long."

She laughed. "Then why is your hand on your pistol, and your heart racing?"

Bob squinted. Though he had been fairly certain of his split-second judgment of the length of Jessica's chain, and although nearly a dozen armed men and women stood just outside the cage, his hand had instinctively flown to his Glock 10mm. Jessica was pacing now, like an impatient tiger in a zoo.

"I'm a vampire now, Bob. I can hear your heartbeat from across the room. It's strong heart for an old man. I can hear the blood coursing through your veins. When Homer was here I could hear the shrill straining of his blood as it forced itself through his clogged arteries. I can smell the stink of a woman's sweat and juices on Van Houten-"

She paused and leaned to the side, spying Millhouse through the cage's bars.

"Get lucky tonight, Milly? Did you have to pay her, or was she just blind, deaf, and drunk?"

She sat down, back against the cage, smirking.

"We came here because we were under the impression you had something to tell us. Where your master was hiding, perhaps?"

She laughed.

"Okay, first of, _the_ Master is not hiding, cause he has no reason to be scared of a bunch of stupid shits like you. Second, he's not staying anywhere, 'cause he's too busy. He's always on the move, meeting people, making plans, shaking hands, you know. And finally, if I told you anything more, anything, no matter how big or helpful…it wouldn't make any difference. You're all gonna fucking die, and your stupid little country, your religion, your ideals of 'love', 'hope', 'truth, justice, and the American way', are gonna be wiped away. Wiped off like shit and flushed down the toilet of eternity, baby."

She stood, and, turning her back to Bob and the others, leaned against the cage. She sniffed the air like a dog.

"So, you guys have another traitor vampire working for you. Little girl one…"

Seras emerged from the shadows.

"Yes, I'm working with them, and I'm no little girl."

She marched over to Heinkel and Yumie. Yumie's hand flew to her katana, dropping the power drill she'd been torturing Jessica with. Seras snatched the device up and licked the blood dripping from the drill bit. Her pupils dilated. She closed her eyes, tilting her head side to side and growling. She opened her eyes.

"Oh bugger…!"

"What?" Lisa asked.

"We need to get Fr. O'Flaherty.

The group, including a drunk and disheveled Bart and a disheveled and rosy-cheeked Gina. Alucard sat in the back, cigarette hanging from his lips.

_Why is he smoking that? Nicotine doesn't affect vampires, so it's not like he needs it_.

_Because he feels it makes him look cooler_. Brian jumped slightly. He had heard Seras speaking in his mind.

He looked at her angrily. "Stay out of my mind, monster."

Fr. Sean called the meeting to order, banging the butt of his revolver on the coffee table.

"Seras, you said that you found out what the Master was doing. Fill us in, lass, if you please."

Seras sighed.

"The reason he wanted the _Necronomicon_ was not to create the supervampires. He needed the spell in it to completely transform them, but that wasn't his primary reason. He's using a spell in it to create an army."

"How?"

"By raising the dead."

Many miles away, in the Shelbyville cemetery, legions of ghouls worked with shovels and pickaxes unearthing the coffins. On the crest of a small weeded hill, Camilla stood with the _Necronomicon_ in hands, chanting. Mariya stood by her side, grinning proudly.

"Cull-En, Rayburn, Narz, Tr'bek! Zahbar, Kresge, Cal'dor, Walmart!"

A sickly green glow began to emnate from the graves. The coffins that had already been unearthed began to shake and move.

"Well?" Mariya yelled at the ghouls, "What are you waiting for? Let them out!"

The ghouls pried open the coffins, and animated corpses climbed out, moaning and wailing. The ghouls handed the ressurected dead shovels and picks, and the dead joined the Undead in digging up their kin.

One corpse hacked open an old wooden coffin, and a living skeleton crawled out.

"Welcome of the land of the living," the corpse rasped, "Now grab a shovel and start digging."

"Damnit. Just like old times," the skeleton answered, its voice a shrill echo from it's hollow skull.

"Can't we stop it?"

"It's already begun. Shelbyville tonight, Springfield tomorrow-with his ghouls and the dead, he'll have an army large enough to begin his next phase of his plan."

"What plan."

She looked down and sighed.

"To set into motion the events of the _Book of Revelations_."

The group was silent. Uter broke the silence with a gasp of "Gott in Himmel". Slowly, worried whispers broke out amongst the Hunters. Fr. Nell raised his arms and brought them to silence.

"Looks like we have to go the cemetery tomorrow night," he said wearily.


	26. School's Out

"And so, Camilla, and Mariya Nikoliovna Kandinsky, I entreat you both with this mission with full confidence in your abilities. Fail and your pain shall forever more be the definition of Hell. Succeed, and at my side you will forever be as my second and third in command, and shall enjoy the new earthly paradise that, with your help, I shall make reality. Go now."

The Master leaned back in his chair. His servant, Hogarth, a man whose eyes he had been pulled from his sockets and whose tongue had been severed, his lips and eyelids sealed with staples, hearing his master's movement, placed the phonograph needle exactly where it had been when the two witches had entered the room.

The Master smiled.

"Hogarth, I ought to reward you someday. Your service, your silence…perhaps as a lich you'd be happy. What do you say?"

The man remained still, mute and blind.

"Of course you would. Of course."

The Master closed his eyes, savoring the scratchy sounds of the record player. _"Solveigs Song" by Grieg. I've not heard notes for so long. My…music is so wonderfully complex and varied now. I must say, most of it is atrocious. Still, some works I could put to use, for the ideas they express, for the emotions they can trigger._

He stood, and danced upon the chamber's polished tiles. He hummed along, muttering words in with melody.

_The University of Springfield…_

Brian Callahan pressed a button on his computer, changing the image that the screen was projecting to one the Assumption of Mary.

"When Augustine left Hippo, his mother was distraught. She feared for her son's life, but, more than that, she feared for his immortal soul, for truly, physical death and injury are nothing compared to eternal damnation. The village priest, who had for so long been her friend and confessor, saw her weeping, and he said to her 'The son of these tears can never perish'."

Brian adjusted his glasses upon his aquiline nose, and took a sip of water from the glass on his podium, and began to pace the front of the lecture room. He smiled, spying several students sleeping.

"But what the priest meant was not that her tears had salvific power, but rather that, her love, and, her prayer and intercession motivated by that love, even though, if you'll remember what Augustine had earlier said about love, his mother Monica's is thus impure because it can bring sorrow, but, even her impure love has the power to save."

After class, the usual five students approached his podium with their notebooks and pencils, ready to ask questions, propose beliefs, or just plain argue. Brian sat on his high stool behind the podium, head on his head, nodding and adding an epithet or pronouncement where he saw fit, while Phillip, his TA, disassembled the projection device that Brian had been using to show his slides. Brian let his attention drift, looking out the open doors where the students were pouring into the bright sunlit. He smiled, thinking of Lisa, and planning to ask her to go to lunch with him later. _What day is this? Thursday. She ought to be done with her Women's Studies class by twelve thirty, and after that she only has a discussion at three and a Film class at six. Plenty of time._

A gun shot sounded. Brian jolted out of his reverie. He through the windows students fleeing some unseen peril. Then he saw them, three, chasing down a student. One lunged forward and grabbed him by the ankles, tripping him. The other two set upon him instantly. _Ghouls._

Brian stood up sharply. The Phillip and the remaining students were screaming. He opened his suitcase and removed a Ruger Mark III target pistol modified for .22 WMR. He cocked it, undid the safety, and marched out the doors.

The man the ghouls had tripped was already dead. The ghouls had torn open his stomach, and were eating his innards. One, having seemingly lost interest in the young man's intestines, turned his attention towards his throat, and bit off a large, bloody chunk of flesh. Another began to gnaw the student's fingers, stripping off his flesh and shattering a tooth on his high school class ring.

Brian took aim and fired. The first ghoul went down swiftly. _Easy shot, his head was down on the man's throat_. The ghoul convulsed and died. It was too freshly created to dissolve into ashes, lied there, face on the man's mutilated throat. The other two ceased their feasting and stood, snarling. Brian fired at the nearest zombie. The shot missed. He fired another, which landed in the ghoul's cheekbone, missing his brain cavity. He fired again, killing it. The other ghoul was rapidly approaching. Brian fired three times, one striking the ghoul in the nose, another in the cheeks, one grazing the top of its skull. Brian fired once more, and the ghouls dropped to the grass. Brian sighed, and looked in the direction that the ghouls had come from. Several more Undead were shambling around the campus, and a plume of black smoke was rising from the direction of the University Center. Brian turned and was about to return to the classroom when he heard and faint moan. He turned around and saw that the young man was standing up.

"God…"

He took aim. The man stood up, arms held out slightly, and turned to face him. His head was lolling down to his chest. His eyes were dark, and his gaze unfocused. Brian zeroed in on his forehead.

"May God grant you rest, my son."

He fired, and the man fell over.

Brian returned to the classroom. The five students and the TA were cowering in the back of the room. Brian went for his suitcase, and loaded a fresh clip into his pistol, and took two more and placed them in his coat pocket. He closed his suitcase, and headed for the door.

"If you plan to survive this, follow me, quickly and quietly."

The six young students looked to one another confusedly. One of them, Aaron, decided to follow his professor, followed by Julie, then Phillip, and the rest.

They reached the parking lot without incident. Brian threw his briefcase, tweed jacket and tie in the backseat, and then opened the drunk. Julie gasped slightly. Five assault rifles, illegal in Springfield even in their civilian models, illegally modified to fire both bursts and fully automatic, sat in a metal rack along with a Thompson submachinegun, a lever action .30-30, and Winchester Defender-model 12 gauge pump action shotgun. Brian removed his modified AR and his bandolier of extra cartridges. He fastened the bandolier across his chest and cocked the rifle, then slung it over his shoulder. He took his gun belt out of the trunk and fastened it around his waist.

"I'm going to fight those freaks."

He pulled out his broadsword and tied it around his waist. His pupils and assistant watched in shocked amazement. Brian slung his AR over his shoulder, then removed his loafers and put on a pair of tennis shoes.

"My keys are on the front seat. Leave if you want. Otherwise-," his shoes laced and tied, he pulled out his Thompson gun and spare ammo drum, "Otherwise, grab a gun and muster up your courage. We're about to face the most horrific monsters that dare sully the earth with their existence."

The six young men and women did not make a move to leave. They stood in place, some, like Aaron, chest out, face set, eyes narrowed. Martie held on to her friend Robyn and was sobbing silently while Robyn bit her lip and stared into space. Phillip kept fidgeting and biting his knuckle and sighing. Brian grinned and nodded. He removed the shotgun and held it up.

"Phil!" he shouted, and tossed it to him. The young man barely managed to catch the gun. He fumbled with it before finally holding it as still as his shaking hands could. Brian handed him a bandolier of shot shells.

"Be a man," Brian barked. He paused, his face becoming even graver, "Only a man can kill a monster."

"Julie."

The young woman named Julie had been looking at her feet and trying not to hyperventilate looked up with a whimper. He handed her the Marlin .30-30.

"That's a lever action. Get acquainted with it fast."

She nodded, a tear falling down her cheek, and proceeded to cock and then accidentally fire it. Lucky for all, the shot flew up and caused no damage, yet the mere noise and smoke of it made Julie drop it and sent the others into hysterics. Brian fired a burst from his Thompson, silencing their wails and screams.

"Shut up! Girl! Pick that up! Aaron, M-16! Jordy, the Galil. Martie and Robyn, AK-47. Now, I don't have much time to teach you kids anything about these guns, so I hope to God you learn quickly and are lucky, and don't end up killing yourselves or each other. This is the selector, you move that to burst. You point the gun at the guy you're killing, aim for his head, line the sights up, and squeeze, don't pull, _squeeze_ the trigger, strong and smooth, and keep aiming at him while you do. Now these aren't humans we're dealing with, they're ghouls, the living dead. You can only kill them by destroying their brains. They're dumb and slow, but they move in packs and have a nasty bite, so, if you can't tell if its ghoul or not, shoot first, apologize later. I don't care if it's your boyfriend, girlfriend, or goddam Santa Clause, but they're now flesh eating slaves of the Undead, and must be destroyed. And Julie…the only way that gun leaves your hands again is if you give it to me, or when those chalk-faced goons pull it out of your cold hands."

He gave all six a brief glance, and nodded.

"Let's go."

As Brian led the six back to the campus, his thoughts were of only one person.

_God above let Lisa be safe_.

The ghouls had entered at the lecture hall where the Women's Studies 146 lecture was being held. They pulled the professor down and began devouring her on the spot. So shocked were the students that many sat in place while the ghouls came lurching in and fell upon them, their mouths opened in silent screams as broken, yellowed teeth dug into their warm flesh. More and more ghouls shambled in, chasing the fleeing students out of the lecture hall and out onto the campus.

Lisa, fortunately, was not in the lecture hall. She had been taking notes when the inconvenience of being a woman forced her to pay a visit to the restroom. She brought her purse with her, as it contained the needed tampons. She was just washing her hands when she had a premonition. And when the screams started, she knew that it was coming true. She reached in her purse and pulled out the HSC that Brian had given to her. She went into a stall and stood crouching on the toilet, pistol ready. _Relax, the ghouls follow sound and movement. They devour a few of my classmate, ha ha…heh, and then they'll chase the survivors outside. The reanimated victims will just follow the screams outside, and then, I'll just sneak outside. I hope Brian's okay…Brian! His cell phone. _She removed her cell phone from her back pants pocket and typed a quick text message.

"_SOS-stuck in wc in social study blding, ghol attck. Help!"_

Halfway across campus, Brian felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen.

"Alright, we're heading to the Campbell Hall."

"I thought you said we were going to the U-cen," Phillip said.

"One of my fellow vampire hunters is trapped in there. She's a student and a good fighter, we'll need her."

"Screw that," Aaron said, "You just said that they're probably all near the U-cen!"

"Yes, and that's where we'll go as soon as we can rescue her."

Brian opened his cell phone again and dialed.

Bart leaned back in his chair n the KBXL radio station. Eric Clapton's "Layla" was playing, with "One In A Million" and "Iron Man" scheduled to follow. He felt his cell phone begin to buzz in his pocket and answered.

"Yo."

"Bart, this is Brian. Get the others down to the University now! Ghouls are attacking in broad daylight, and Lisa's trapped."

"Aye Carumba!"

"Hurry."

"Right, man," Bart answered, hanging up. He gathered his keys and papers, then stopped by Mac in the sound booth.

"Play one of the old tapes, I gotta go early Mac."

"Will do."

Bart hopped in his car and sped off.

Brian kicked open the lecture hall door, entering at the bottom of the room, where the teacher lectured. About a dozen ghouls lingered inside, munching on the fresh corpses of the students.

"Holy shit," Aaron whispered. Phillip clapped his hand over his mouth and gagged. Brian aimed and fired, bringing two ghouls down. The other ghouls turned and began to advance upon the humans, drooling and snarling. Brian charged, firing, allowing the others to enter and spread out. Aaron charged in and let loose a blast of automatic fire. His gun swayed all over, filling the air with bullets. His wild shots hit several ghouls, but only one lucky shot happened to his one in the head. Aaron's gun fell silent. He kept jerking the trigger nervously, teeth gritted.

"Reload, kid!"

Aaron ejected the spent magazine and loaded a fresh one. Jordan fired his Galil, waiving it back and forth between two ghouls. He wasted half his magazine on misses and chest shots, but eventually the two ghouls slumped over. Phillip fired his shotgun, the heavy buckshot taking the top of a zombie's head off.

Brian charged on ahead, swiftly taking out ghouls with single shots, his rifle in semi-automatic mode. One of them at the back of the classroom opened, and more ghouls began to enter, shuffling down the slanted aisle to the front of the class. Brian shot the first one in the head. He heard a door open to his right, and saw that a ghoul charging at him from the wheelchair access door. Brian instinctively flicked the control to fully automatic and squeezed the trigger. The shots landed in the ghoul's chest, and he brought them higher, tearing out the ghoul's throat, before splattering its brains against the wall. Brian looked back at the ghouls that were slowly marching down the aisle. They were much nearer now, and another group was now emerging from the door on the opposite side of the rows of seats. He loaded a fresh clip and switched into semi-automatic, and began to take them out. Aaron and Jordy started firing at the reanimated students rising from the seats. Their wild volleys set chunks of fabric and stuffing flying into the air as the ghouls rose and fell back down again.

Brian let out a nervous laugh and loaded yet another clip into his rifle.

"You're doing fine!"

He heard the distinct report of an AK-47, then two. He turned to his left, and saw Marty and Robyn, both framed by the doorway, firing their Kalashnikovs wildly. Julie, her jaw open and her eyes wide, dropped her rifle and ran into the room. Jordan and Aaron began to run outside, weapons ready, while Phillip chased Julie as she ran up the stairs to the back of the class. As she neared the doorway she froze. A ghoul lunged at her, its teeth sinking into her throat. Phillip screamed and fired, the buckshot from his weapon decapitating both girl and ghoul. He screamed and turned away in horror, his shotgun falling from his hand. A ghoul emerged from the other rear door holding a Skorpion submachine gun. Phillip blinked, mouth agape, and the ghoul fired. Brian took aim and let out a long burst from his rifle, splattering the walls with the Undead freak's head. Phillip lurched to the side and rolled down the steps. Brian heard a strange, mechanical roar, like a lawnmower starting, and looked out the door. The four surviving students were firing their assault rifles and shouting at him, while, above the roar of four automatic weapons, an unseen device rumbled and sputtered. Marty's gun jammed and she dropped it, running inside and shouting, "Run!" Jordan grabbed Robyn's arm and both turned and ran inside. Aaron, still firing, began to sidestep towards the door. The rumbling was growing louder, and, as he heard it more clearly, Brian felt a terrible stale weight come to his stomach. It was a sound out of his childhood nightmares, a sound that had frightened him ever since he had seen _that movie_, a film his parents had deemed grotesque and wicked to the point of being Satanic, while at a sleepover at a friend's house. Aaron began to turn away, and then, the thing appeared.. A man, over six feet tall, wearing a filthy t-shirt, boots, and overall, with his face concealed by a burlap sack, staggered into view, a freakishly large yellow chainsaw in his hands. Aaron stopped and began to fire at the monster. The creature swung the chainsaw and knocked his gun aside, then, spinning around, lobbed off one of Aaron's arms. Brian felt as though the bottom of his stomach had fallen out. The freak brought the chainsaw to Aaron's stomach and sliced it open. Aaron fell to the ground, his blood spilling out of his body, while his murderer stood over him.

Brian shouted and fired his AR. The creature took a step backwards, as if merely stunned. Jordan and Robyn took aim and fired as well. The creature raised its chainsaw and advanced, swinging the roaring machine in wide archs and spinning about in a grotesque ballet. Brian realized that his shots were worthless. He'd shot the thing more than a dozen times in the chest and five times in the head, and Robyn and Jordan had both emptied their clips into him, and yet he attacked still. The hideous behemoth drew nearer. Brian dropped his rifle and rolled under the chainsaw's hungry maw. The thing spun on its feet and brought the blade back towards Brian. Brian sent all his strength into his legs and leapt over his strike. He flew face-first into the third row of seats and hit his head on the cement floor.

For a second he lie unconscious on the floor, and then, his eyes snapped open. His mind remembered the threat his body had not yet forgotten, and he drew his .45 revolver and peeked over the top of the seats. The chainsaw-wielding freak was advancing on Jordy and Robyn. Jordan, out of ammo, raised his rifle and charged. The freak slashed open Jordan's ribcage, and the young man collapsed, dead. The thing reached Robyn in three long strides, and brought the whirring blade down on her. She raised her AK up and caught the chainsaw inches from her scalp. He bore down on her, the sharp chain of teeth shredding the receiver of her assault rifle and burning her face with a shower of sparks. Brian fired three times, aiming for the creature's potato bag-covered head. All three shots struck their target, but neither drew blood nor brought any reaction from the creature. Brian cocked back the hammer on his revolver and took aim at the chainsaw. He closed one eye and squinted.

_Hurry! Take your time. She can't hold up much longer. Focus…aim small, miss small. She's gonna die and it'll be all your fault! Long, smooth, steady squeeze. Now! Easy…remember to follow through…Now! Easy…Now! Now! Now!_

Brian fired. The shot hit and produced a loud ping. The chainsaw spun out of the creature's control. He staggered to the side, trying to control the ersatz power tool. Robyn dropped her broken rifle and ran up the aisle. Brian ran to her and pulled her to the ground.

"Shh," he hissed. She lay down in the aisle. Brian reloaded his pistol and peeked over the top of the seat. The thing had gotten its chainsaw under control, and was now revving it and starring at the overturned wooden podium in the front of the classroom. He reached down and flipped it over, revealing a tearful Marty.

Brian leapt up onto the top of the seat and ran, seat top to seat top, while the creature raised its chainsaw back over its head. Brian leapt and grabbed onto the chainsaw's handle.

"Run!"

The creature struggled and spun about. It let go of the chainsaw with one hand and grabbed at Brian.

"Run you stupid shit! Don't just sit there and die! Run!"

Shaking with fear, Marty got to her feet. She looked at her teacher, now wrestling with the freak, then turned and ran out the lecture hall. Robyn, who'd watching over the top of a seat, ran to the other side of the room, and down the steps. She stopped and picked up Aaron's M-16, and ran after her friend.

The creature grabbed Brian by the collar and threw him across the room. Brian bounced off the wall and to the ground, then, stars blinking in front of his eyes, drew his Thompson and fired at the freak. It stopped briefly, then resumed it advance. Brian fired again, and this time the ghoul didn't even stop. Brian looked up the stairs at the backdoor, and ran. The creature gave chase. He was halfway up the stairs when he saw something step through the doorway.

"Lisa!"

Lisa looked at her feet, kicked Phillip's shotgun up and into her hands, and cocked it. Brian threw himself to the side. Lisa fired, hitting the monster in the face. The burlap sack flew off in a shower of blood and fragmented bone. The creature marched forward still, chainsaw swinging. Lisa waited until it raised the chainsaw over its head, and fired, blowing off one of its hands. The creature swung the chainsaw one-handed, and she leapt backwards, firing and disintegrating the creature's elbow with a spray of buckshot. The chainsaw clattered to the ground. Handless and headless, the creature still marched forward. It struck Lisa across the face with its stump of an arm, knocking her to the ground. Brian ran and grabbed the chainsaw. Lisa fired from the floor, hitting the thing in the gut. It kicked her in the face, then set its foot on her and began to press. Brian revved the chainsaw and charged, screaming incoherent rage. He pressed the chainsaw to the creature's side and slowly, painfully pushed it through. The creature's blood and flesh flew into his face. The bloodthirsty teeth tore through the things spinal column, and it fell to the ground in two pieces. The legs collapsed and rolled down the stairs, while the upper half thrashed, and began to crawl towards Lisa. Brian set his foot on the back of its head and pushed its face to the floor. He sawed off both arms, and then the head, and kicked the head down the stairs. Brian threw the chainsaw aside and got on his hands and crawled over to Lisa.

"Lisa…"

Gasping, Lisa opened her eyes and, seeing Brian, threw her arms around him.

"Brian!"

Brian held her, then began to cough. She let go, sitting up on the steps. Brian held his hand over his mouth, coughing.

"Brian, are you alright?"

He continued to cough.

_God…I knew his smoking would kill him. Why wouldn't he listen?_

Brian continued coughing, gasping for breath between his violent coughs. He felt something warm and wet in his hand, and looked. Dark blood. He shook his head and started to cry. Lisa held him, crying quietly.

Edna Skinner drove along Evergreen Terrace, one hand holding the steering wheel and her cigarette, the over turning the dial on her car's radio. She heard Rod Stewart's "Maggie May", and stopped turning the dial. She sighed. _Man, this song is thirty years old now. More than thirty. I remember I used to be crazy about Rod._

Edna pulled into the driveway of her house. _Seymour's already here. Good._ She parked and got out of her car. She went inside, and found her husband, mayor Seymour Skinner, cooking lunch, his mother's pink apron around his waist.

"Good afternoon, Edna, dear."

She smiled.

"Hello Seymour."

She set her keys and purse on the counter and walked over to him and kissed him. Her mind flashed back, each time they kissed, to that first time in Martin's playhouse. _Just next door, actually. Ha! I hadn't kissed a man for…what, a year? And each time it's a little different. Sad kisses, happy kisses, tired kisses, 'hello' kisses, 'goodbye' kisses, horny kisses…I love all of your kisses, Seymour._

"Hmm…what's for lunch?"

Skinner grinned, holding Edna in his arms.

"Some grilled cheese, minestrone soup, iced tea, and a big dish of Skinner pie."

She pulled on his tie playfully.

"I say we have dessert first."

He kissed her again. He reached over and shoved the pot of soup of off the stove, then unplugged the griddle.

Twenty minutes later, Seymour was reheating the soup in the microwave while Edna puffed contentedly on a cigarette and sipped a glass of wine at the table. Seymour brought her a bowl of soup and a sandwich. He looked at her face. Her eyes were misty and distant.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

She smiled and sighed.

"The early days…Bart running courier for you…"

She closed her eyes. _Those early days were so full of promise, hope, passion. Two desperate, lonely idiots loving each other._ She remembered how she once sat on her desk at the front of the room, a scarf around her neck to conceal the multiple love bites Seymour had given her the night before. _I was in my good dress, and had makeup on. I never wore make up to work when I taught. Except in those days. I felt like I was pretty enough for make up to be able to make me presentable for a change, because I felt loved. _

Skinner sat down across from her, and set his hand on hers, interrupting her reminiscing. _I am loved._

Seymour looked into her tarnished green eyes. _She has a dark spot in the iris of her left eye. A flaw in the iris. I love her for her flaws, for her grittiness._ She blew a smoke ring, and batted her eyelashes. He looked away, his face falling slightly. _I was such a moron to be afraid to marry her. I should have done so the first chance I had. I guess…it took my mother's death for me to find the courage to love a woman. With Agnes gone, I could stop hating women, because I didn't have her, my mother, my quintessential woman, to hate._ He looked back at her, and leaned across the table to kiss her.

Sitting back down, he tied his napkin around his neck and picked up his sandwich.

"So, where's Arlie today?"

Edna slurped a spoonful of soup and patted her lips with her napkin.

"He went up to Capital City with some friends. He'll be back later tonight."

"He has his cell with him, right?

"Yes."

"And the charger?"

"I don't know."

"Hmm…that's not good. What if his cell runs out? How will we reach him?"

"Relax. It's just a little day trip. Darryl's with him, and we have his number."

"Well, I suppose the boy can handle himself."

Skinner's cellular rang.

"Speaking of cell phones…just a minute Edna…Hello? Bob? What the? George S. Patton, you're kidding!"

"What's wrong?"

Skinner closed his cell and stood up.

"There's an attack going on at Springfield University. Lisa Simpson is trapped there along with several classmates, and Brian Callahan, that professor I introduced you to at the town council meeting?"

"The theology professor? He's dating Lisa, right?"

"Right. Edna, come with me."

He led her upstairs and to his mother's room. Edna had not been in there since she'd moved into the house, and had assumed that Skinner, in his obsessive, semi-oedipal way, had left it exactly as it had been while his mother was alive. Seymour opened the door, and Edna gasped. Rather than containing his mother's bed and possessions, the room was filled with a veritable arsenal of weapons.

"Oh my God! Seymour, what is all this?"

He grabbed his wife's shoulders.

"Edna, I have a confession to make. Something I should have told you long ago."

"Oh God. You're not a terrorist, are you?"

"No."

"Serial killer?"

"No."

"Mobster?"

"No!"

"Republican?"

"No! I'm part of a secret organization devoted to combating vampires, zombies, werewolves, and assorted beasties."

Edna looked at him and shook her head.

"Oh dear…you're crazy."

"No! Come on, look!"

He drug her by the arm to a display case. Resting on top of it was a desiccated severed hand, and two sealed jars of water.

"I keep this here to prove to you if I have to. These jars are both ordinary water. Look-" he unscrewed both jars, rolled up his sleeves, and stuck both hands in them. He then took a handful of water from each jar and drank.

"Okay…"

He took the hand and dropped it in the jar on the left. He held up the jar.

"See, nothing?"

"Seymour, look, I can get you help. Doctor White is really-!"

"Edna, now watch!"

He took the hand out of the first jar and placed it in the second jar. The water bubbled furiously, and the hand dissolved instantly. Edna watched, confused. Skinner placed his hand in the jar.

"What happened? Both these jars are filled with ordinary water. I put the hand in the first jar and it didn't do anything, thus, proving that it does not dissolve in water. The second jar, however, had been blessed. Holy water, Edna. That hand was the severed hand of a vampire. So, you still think I'm crazy?"

"Yeah. To a lesser degree, maybe."

He walked over to a rack of assault rifles. He removed his jacket and shirt and strapped two bandoliers of cartridges around his chest.

"Ghouls, zombies, you might call them, are attacking the University. Brian and Lisa are members of the Order of Saint Michael, as are all the Simpsons, the Catholic priests in town, Snake, Moe, Captain McAllister, even Melvin Van Horn."

He tied a red bandana around his forehead.

"Sideshow Mel?"

"Yep," he answered as he fastened his belt with his pistol, knife, machete, and grenades around his waist. He took his old M-16A2 down and loaded a full clip into it, "And I have to help them now."

Edna starred at him. He was a different man now, something fierce and decisive. Sirens wailed in the distance. He took another M-16 down from the rack.

"You should be able to work this, right?"

She nodded.

"You showed me how to shoot the AR-15."

"Yes. This one has full auto mode, though. Stay off of that unless you have to. There's plenty of ammo and loaded clips up here. Call Arlie and tell him to stay the night in Capital City. I doubt it'll be safe here for much longer."

He kissed her intensely. She squeezed his muscular arms in her hands.

"Please come back," she whispered.

"I will."

Brian huffed the nebulizer, inhaling the fine medicated mist. He and Lisa had gone to the student health center, and had found a nebulizer and vial of asthma medication.

"Better?" Lisa asked.

Brian nodded.

"Good."

She turned off the machine and hopped down from the counter. She took the device from Brian's hands and kissed him.

"I'll quit this time. I promise."

She smiled and nodded.

"I will."

"I know. I just hope it's not too late for you Brian."

Marty and Robyn arrived a few minutes later. Marty had carried Robyn halfway across the campus, and collapsed the minute she walked in the door. They had tried to reach the parking lot, but saw that the ghouls were systematically destroying all of the cars with baseball bats and sledge hammers and then setting them ablaze with gasoline. They had head back and were surrounded. Robin shot a opening in the circle of ghouls and they ran through, but Robyn tripped over a corpse and was immediately set upon by ghouls. Marty fought them off using her gun like a club, but Robyn's legs had already been horribly mangled.

They rummaged through the cabinets and found sound gauze, bandages, a needle, some thread, and antiseptic. Brian and Lisa stitched up Robyn's wounds the best they could with their limited medical knowledge, and bandaged whatever they couldn't stitch, while Robyn sobbed and bit down on a wad of gauze and Marty held her hand.

Brian set Marty down.

"I called my fellow Hunters. They'll be here soon, along with several Hellsing troops."

He handed her the shotgun, a bandolier of shells, and his .22 WMR target pistol.

"Stay here and take care of Robyn. Lock the door, keep quiet, and pray. If we survive, and if you survive, we'll get you out of here."

He handed her his rosary. It was a cheap plastic one he'd gotten on a retreat when he was a teen, but he had cherished it all his life as though it were a precious keepsake.

"Here. I know you're not Catholic, and that you disagree with my worldview. Now, even if my worldview seems so painfully real that to deny it would be to sit down and let the ghouls eat you, I'm not going to ask you to believe. Just…"

He set his rosary in her hand.

Lisa walked in, holding Brian's Thompson gun.

"Brian."

"Right."

He stood.

"God protect you, child."

Lisa walked over and kissed her gently on the lips.

"Goodbye."

Gino Terwilliger looked at the ghoul through the sight of his .338 LM rifle. He squeezed the trigger, and a bright red hole appeared on the ghoul's temple.

"Good shot son," Bob said.

"Grazi, papa."

Maggie smirked. Akira tapped her on the shoulder. She looked. He took an arrow from his quiver, set it in his bow, pulled back, and released. The arrow struck a ghoul in the temple, killing it instantly.

"Cool."

Mel shook Akira's hand.

"This isn't going to be a game, Miss Simpson," Bob said. Gino chuckled and fired again.

"I know. And Gino missed."

She aimed her 7.62 NATO rifle and fired. The ghoul collapsed into a heap of ash and bone.

Gino looked over his shoulder at her.

_What a girl! I think I'm in love!_

"We're bringing you down over the University plaza, sir," the helicopter pilot said.

Francesca fired her rifle several times, the huge .50 Browning Machine Gun shells clattering on the floor.

"Alright. Shawn, bring us down!"

"Aye, sir!"

The helicopter lowered and sank to just five feet over the main university plaza. The five Hunters leapt out, and the helicopter rose up above them and opened fire on the swarming ghouls.

"Let the killing commence."

Bob unshouldered his AK-74 and opened fire.

_New Bedlam Mental Hospital_

Heinkel and Yumie marched along the corridor, wearing white nurse gowns. Yumie pushed a small cart with several food trays on top. Heinkel muttered in prayer,

"_Almighty and Ever Merciful God,_

_We Humbly Beseech Thee grant us strength,_

_So that we, should Thou will it,_

_Rid the earth of all who defile Thy Name._

_Let our actions extinguish the flame of evil,_

_And bring Thy Justice to men and nations._

_Amen."_

They reached their destination. Yumiko looked to Heinkel. Heinkel nodded and reached inside her nurse costume, making sure that her silenced 9mm was still in its holster.

Carrie held Patty's head to her shoulder and kissed her.

"You're going to be fine, babe. You're going to be alright…"

"Carrie…I don't know what's been wrong with me. I think I've been going crazy!"

"Shh…"

There was a knock at the door. Heinkel and Yumiko entered, smiling warmly.

"Lunch time!" Yumiko said cheerfully. Heinkel brought a tray over to Carrie, smiled and patted her lover's hand.

"Oh, look Patty! Roast chicken, fresh spinach, peaches, and iced tea. You'll like this."

Heinkel looked at Yumiko, who removed her glasses, and, from the food tray, removed her katana.

"_Battouryu Shinden!_"

"_They shall go into the lower parts of the earth._

_They shall fall by the sword._

_They shall be a portion for foxes._

_And the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped!"_

Heinkel drew her pistol and aimed at Carrie. The red dot of the laser sight glowed between her eyebrows.

"_He is a fool who says 'There is no God'"_

She fired. Patty screamed and lunged towards Carrie. She knocked her off of her chair and fell with her to the floor. She opened her eyes and found herself staring down the barrel of Heinkel's pistol. Heinkel fired four times. Patty closed her eyes. She waited for the bullets to hit, for it all to end in all so much confusion and violence. The pain, the darkness, the end never came. She opened her eyes and saw the bullets hovering in place inches from her face. Heinkel and Yumie stared in shock. The bullets clattered to the floor, and, in a rustling of his long coat, Alucard appeared. He look down at Patty and Carrie, his reflective sunglasses gleaming like an animal's eyes in firelight.

"I guess I wasn't a hallucination after all."

Yumie snarled and started towards him, katana raised. Heinkel put out an arm and stopped her.

"No Yumie. Even by day this monster is too powerful."

"Murderous bastard!"

Alucard chuckled.

"Who was trying to murdered just now?"

Heinkel sneered.

"These vile freaks won't be missed."

"Her sisters? Her nieces and nephews?"

"If they loved her they wouldn't allow her to live as an abomination!"

Alucard frowned.

"Abomination…"

Heinkel sighed.

"Fine, monster. Let them live. More fuel for the fires of Hell, whether they go now or later."

Alucard knelt down and removed his hat and glasses. He helped Carrie and Patty to their feet.

"Loathe as I am to say it, they're right, if only in principle. You," he said, looking at Carrie with his piercing red eyes, "I'd advise never having a romantic interest in her or any woman ever again."

Carrie made and angry sound and snapped, "Who the hell are you to tell me what to do!"

Alucard roared. The room became dark, the only source of light the numerous eyes staring from the inky blackness. Alucard appeared wreathed in red mist.

"Who am I to tell you right from wrong? I am wrong. I know evil on an intimate level. It soaks me to the very molecules-it dwell in the spaces between my atoms. I wake with evil and sleep in the embrace of sin!"

He appeared now as though rising out of an enormous red eye floating above the hospital bed.

"I know evil, babe. And that gives me every right to say what you do is wrong. You'll end up my slaves in Hell!"

The light returned. Alucard stood by the door, looking out the window.

"The dead are attacking the university. Heinkel, Yumie, take Patty out of here. The ghouls are here too. In the basement. Have her lover go to Capital City."

He donned his hat and glasses. He pulled the brim of his hat, saying, "Afternoon, ladies," and disappeared.

Lisa screamed and fired the Thompson gun. Ghouls fell to the pavement, dead and wounded. Brian shoved a ghoul off of himself and decapitated it with his broadsword.

"Come on Brian!"

They had reached the University Center and were fighting through the lobby. They'd seen the helicopter and heard the distinctive blast of Francesca's Barrett .50 caliber rifle, and knew that if they reached the others in the plaza they'd stand a better chance. Brian bit the pin off a grenade and threw it down a hallway at their right. The dozen ghouls shambling down the hall were blown into pieces. Lisa fired to the left, slowing an advancing mob of ghouls, and rushed after Brian as he raced for the main doors. Outside he could see a mass of ghouls with Bob, Gino, Akira, Francesca, and Maggie fighting fiercely in the middle. He was almost at the glass doors that opened onto the university plaza when a door to his left burst open. A man, his skin grey and mottled with red gashes opening onto his bare, graying muscle leapt out, holding a katana. He swung at Brian, and he ducked under the strike and leapt to the side. The man swung again as he leapt, grazing Brian's side. Lisa aimed and fired a burst at the creature's head, hitting it in the eye. In made no indication of pain and charged at Brian and brought the shinning blade down twice, each time Brian blocking it with his rifle. Brian winced as he saw the sharp blade cut halfway through the barrel, then, in a startling burst of revelation, saw the inscription on the blade, _Aves Crux Spes Unica_, and realized that it was his sword that he had lost in the mountains. The creature pulled the blade back and then lunged forward. Brian pulled his longsword up in its scabbard and used its handle to knock the tip of the katana of course. He drew his sword and severed the creature's hands, then kicked it against the wall. Lisa squeezed the trigger of her Thompson, and emptied a full fifty rounds of .45 ACP into the man's chest. He collapsed in a puddle of mutilated flesh and black, stinking fluids, but his head and arms kept moving. Brian took out his revolver and fired all six shots into the thing's head, splattering his brains on the wall. The arms and legs continued to twitch.

"What are these things? They're like super ghouls."

Lisa paused.

She said, "They're the Master's new army. The reanimated corpses from Shelbyville, Brian."

"God, to think they're practically indestructible."

He sheathed his sword and picked up his old katana.

"Bob was right when he said this thing was a masterpiece. Look, it cut into my rifle's barrel and there's not even a scratch on its finish!"

The glass doors of the University Center swung upon as five gun-wielding ghouls entered from the battle outside. Lisa screamed and fired her submachine gun, striking two of the ghouls with damaging, but non-lethal torso shots. Brian passed his katana to his left hand and reached for his pistol. He saw out of the corner of his eye that one of the ghouls held an M-16 and was pointing it dead at him. He felt as though time had slowed to a tedious crawl as his hand slowly closed around his pistol and began to move back across his body as the ghoul reached for the trigger on his assault rifle. The ghoul's finger reached the trigger. Brian's pistol was only halfway across his chest. He could imagine the blast of the rifle and the searing hot kiss of the bullet in his ribs. He was almost there. Lisa's wild blast of fire managed to kill two of the ghouls with chance headshots. Brian closed his eyes, wincing. There came a loud gunshot, and he winced. _No pain? A miss?_ Another shot, then another. _That's not a .233…_ Brian opened his eyes, his revolver now pointing at a headless ghoul. The three remaining ghouls collapsed, their faces mutilated. Outside the doors stood Maggie Simpson, holding a smoking revolver and smirking.

"Maggie?"

Maggie aimed over her shoulder and fired three more shots, killing the three ghouls behind her. She ejected the spent casings and popped a full moon clip of six more from her belt into her weapon and spun, killing six ghouls. She reloaded again, and no sooner had she done so than she placed each bullet in a ghoul's skull.

"Shit, she's a good shot!"

"I told you," Lisa said, "She nearly killed Mr. Burns when she was one!"

They kicked open the doors and charged out into the fray. Lisa fired and cut down the line of ghouls separating them from the others, and she, Maggie, and Brian rushed through the gap.

"Good to see you two made it," Bob yelled above the din of guns and screaming zombies.

"Same for you guys," Lisa answered.

Akira rapidly fired twelve arrows from his longbow, all but two killing the ghouls they struck.

"Hey Legolas! You're ought of arrows," Maggie said, offering him a pistol. Akira pushed it away and shook his head, turning up his nose at it. He drew his cleaver and nunchaku and ran at the swelling ghoul horde. He leapt, spinning, into the air and landed in the midst of them. With his nunchaku twirling, he cut through the ghouls, his meat cleaver hacking forearms and necks and his nuchaku shattering jaws and skulls. Ghouls crumpled to the ground around him. He zigzagged through the mob, ghouls falling to his weapons and sharp kicks. He leapt back into the group of Hunter and looked at Maggie.

"I see…"

_Honk! Honk!_

Maggie looked around, confused. She heard an engine revving and a hideous crunching. Suddenly, several ghouls' heads exploded, destroyed by powerful rifle rounds. Bart's car went swerving through the crowd and crashed into a nearby tree. Bart and Gina hopped out, Bart firing his twin .44 magnums and Gina shooting a special 10mm MP. They fought through the ghouls, who had been briefly confused by their sudden, dramatic arrival, and joined the others.

"About time," Maggie said.

"Hey," Bart snapped, loading a full moon clip into his revolver and promptly killing three ghouls, "Good things come to those wait."

A ghoul broke from the mob and rushed at them. Gina saw it out of the corner of her eye and gave it a sharp spin-kick to the gut. It staggered backwards, and Gina took aim and shot it between the eyes.

"We're doing pretty good, I should say," Lisa chimed, watching as the ghouls' numbers began to thin.

An eerie silence came, as the ghouls ceased their usual moaning and wailing, followed by the revving of several small motors.

"You had to say that, didn't ya Lis?"

Lisa blushed, embarrassedly, then the color faded from her face completely.

"AAAAHH!"

Several burlap sack wearing, chainsaw wielding leviathans had appeared, swinging their chainsaws and mutilating numerous ghouls as they staggered towards the Hunters.

"Damn! We're in a tight spot!"

One of the freaks emerged from the sea of ghouls. Bob fired his AK-74 at its chest, his shots hitting but having no effect. The thing raised its chainsaw. Then, out of the blue, a white-gloved, clawed hand burst through its chest. The hand lifted the monster up, revealing Alucard, grinning madly.

"_Deux ex machina_," he said. He flung the creature through the air. It smashed into a brick wall with a loud squishing noise. Alucard raised up one hand, the pentacle on the back of it glowing bright red.

"Control Art Restriction release to Level Three….Level Two…Level One!"

He dissolved into a small, round shadow on the ground. The shadow spread outwards, covering the ground. A bright, luminous pentagram, surrounded by several Hebrew letters and the words "And Shine Heaven Now Hell's Gate Arrested. Gott Mitt Uns." Appeared in the circle the Hunters were maintaining. The inky shadow covered the buildings and reached up into the sky. Maggie watched as what appeared to be a giant outline of Alucard, his features, save for his two glowing eyes lost in darkness, appeared on the horizon and crushed the sun with his hand. All went dark. The Hunters backed up into a tight circle with Maggie and Gino in the center. A mad, frightening, shrill laughter echoed through the pavilion, and Lisa screamed as she saw numerous red eyes materialize and disappear within the blackness surrounding them. Gunshots rang out, and ghouls moaned and screeched. They jumped and pointed their guns about madly as one of the chainsaws grew louder before falling silent.

The sun reappeared, and the darkness faded. They looked around in amazement at the plaza, now filled with shattered and dismembered corpses and smoking ashes. Alucard stood several feet away, looking up at the sun through his thick, red sunglasses.

"I'll be going to bed now. I get cranky if I stay up to late during the day."

End of Chapter

Coming Soon: Thou shall not suffer a witch to live. The gang tries to stop the Master from resurrecting the dead in Springfield cemetery to serve as his unholy legions, and Jessica deals with life after death and her lingering feelings for Bart. Also, more of Heinkel, Yumie, Seras, and Alucard


	27. Dead Man's Party

_It had been like a waking dream. A person like me, an extension of my mind, my heart, my body, and my soul. Bart…_

Images flickered, grew, and faded, as if tugged and moved by the tide. Bart's face in the moonlight, his tongue gently pulling globs of melting ice cream into his mouth, the mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her, that incomprehensible look-_Joy? Sadness? Remorse? Pride? Love…?_-as he looked at her that day in the park, his red pocketknife in his hand, and a heart with the words "Jessica + Bart" carved into the oak tree.

_I'd led a double life. To my parents, my friends, my teachers, the church, I was the perfect preacher's daughter. Alone, with my other friends, with Bart, I was the bad girl. Too bad for Bart even. He was just a little boy being naughty. What I did was destructive. It was hate, hate for my father, hate for my mother for marrying him and not doing anything about him and for being a vicious, lying bitch. Hate for my church for being so phony. Hate for my friends for being fake, shallow, bitchy. Hate, hate, hate. So much hate. How'd it all get into me?_

Her father's face, grainy, lined; it was an image on an old TV screen, but the picture was new. He was opening his new megachurch in Capital City. A broken screen. She'd kicked it in upon seeing his face, and had cut her foot. And Bart wasn't there to hold her as she cried.

_I hate him so much. Why? It hardly makes sense. I just…God!_

Bart's face: older, with slight facial hair and longer hair. He wore headphones and was talking into a microphone. His red sports car. His sister, also older, with her college books and her smug look. _You were the one who got me in trouble for stealing the collection money. Bitch. _

Bart, smiling, shirtless, next to her. His scarred, muscular chest. His strong arms and calloused hands, so strong, but so gentle. The quietness to him. His eyes. His mouth, so kissable. _It was like heaven again. A waking dream. He was Adam, I was Eve, and our love gave us a new Eden. We were happy. I was happy. For the first time in years my heart didn't burn with hate. I wanted to love, to cry into his arms until all the bitterness and agony of twenty-two years had drained out. _

A man with pale skin and luminous yellow eyes, his snarling mouth revealing elongated canines. Sideshow Bob leaping between them and the monstrosity, both guns drawn. Bart firing a huge revolver, the flash nearly blinding and the sound of it earsplitting. An old man in black cassock and round glasses yelling, shaking his fist and holding a hammer and wooden stake. _It all fell apart so quickly. Vampires became real. They were the agents of Satan. He was also real. So was God. And Bart's family was in danger. I helped him, and then I was in danger. And at night I could hear the voices whispering, telling me it was all no good, that the same evil I fought found a home in my soul. I was evil. I carried it with me. I rejected that world. I blocked it out, denied it, pretended it didn't exist, and went back to hating Bart. Hating him because it was the closest thing I knew to loving him_.

Jessica opened her eyes, and saw the ceiling of the cage and the room's white ceiling beyond it. She rolled onto her side and saw a young woman sitting on a crate outside her cage. She had blonde hair and wore a blood red military uniform. Jessica's eyes tuned in to her infrared emissions, and saw that she was the same temperature as the air. Her ears focused on her heart, but heard no pulse. She noticed that the girl wasn't even breathing.

"You're a vampire," she said.

"Right-o," she answered, smiling weakly.

Jessica sat up and crossed her legs.

"So, you're working for the padre now, ain't ya?"

"Not really, I mean, I work for the Hellsing Organization, but on this mission I'm assigned to obey Father O'Flaherty's orders."

Jessica tilted her head, intrigued by Seras' unusual diction and pronunciation. _Irish? No…not Scottish…not Canadian…could be Australian…what do Kiwi's sound like?_

"English?"

"That's right."

Jessica sighed.

"You used to be one of them, the Hunters."

Jessica frowned.

"Yes. Used to be."

Seras nodded. She walked over to a small refrigerator and removed four red bags. She walked back to Jessica's cage and slipped two of them through the bars of the cage. Jessica saw what it was that they contained.

"Blood?"

"That's right," Seras answered. She bit the end off of one bag and began to drink. Jessica eyed the bags and crawled over to them. She picked one up and examined it, noting the hollow, straw-like extension. She read the label. _"Hellsing Medical Blood. Hi-Grade, RH + Mild Blend"_. She bit the drinking tube open and squeezed the bag. The cold, salty liquid shot into her mouth. She forced herself to swallow. Immediately she felt her senses sharpen. She could hear the hum of machine's in Frink's lab outside, Frink humming "Eine Kleine Nacthmusik" by Mozart, and Fr. Sean and Fr. Nell discussing sports in the lounge upstairs. She could practically hear the hum of atoms as they vibrated in space. Just by willing it, walls became transparent, and she could see the trees and bushes outside, and the red glow of the sky.

"So this is what they meant."

"Who?"

"The ones who made me a vampire."

Seras nodded.

"I tasted your blood you know."

Jessica looked at her.

"I know your whole life story. Every dream, every waking moment."

Jessica's lip curled. Seras looked at her with a sympathetic smile. Jessica shook her head in disgust.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"No. But you should tell _him_."

"Who?"

Seras looked aside.

"Who!"

"That boy you still love."

Jessica snarled, her eyes glowing red and her lips pulling back from her mouth.

"Don't you _dare_ talk about him! Do you hear me!"

Seras frowned.

"Sorry. I-"

"Well, yeah? Don't! Just, shutup!"

Jessica turned around and drew her knees up to her chest, sitting with her back to Seras. She heard a door open behind herself. _Footsteps, three people. _She sensed an imperceptible drop in temperature, and could feel an overbearing, powerful presence draw near. She turned around and saw Gina, a tall woman she did not know, Millhouse, and a fourth person whose approach she had not heard. He was incredibly tall, his length wrapped in a red trench coat, and his face obscured by large red glasses and a broad-brimmed hat. She focused on the reflective lenses, watching as they glinted and changed from red to dark yellow as they moved. The lenses became transparent, and she saw two black holes beyond them. She felt herself being pulled into them, and saw them merge into a single void as she drew near them. She felt herself falling through, and saw two enormous, luminous eyes; the iris red, the pupils thin yellow slits, and they gleamed with the light of the fires of Hell.

"Jessica?"

She shook her head, and the phantasm vanished. Gina was at the edge of her cage, her face near the bars.

"We're leaving now. Seras will be watching you. If you need anything, let her know."

Jessica hissed. Her eyes yellowed, and her lips pulled tight as her mouth opened wide. She sprouted claws from her fingertips and pounced at Gina. Gina reflexively leapt backwards, turning over and landing on her hands, and somersaulting into a kneeling position, gun drawn. Jessica slammed against the bars and reached out at Gina. She recoiled, steam rising from her arms and face where they touched the metal of the cage. She looked at her arms, and saw bright red and black burns still smoldering and emitting thin vapor. She collapsed to the floor and started to cry. Francesca patted Gina on the shoulder, and the three humans left, leaving three Undead in the room. Alucard walked over to Seras and looked down upon her.

"You holding up alright, Police Girl?"

"Yes, Master."

He nodded.

"Feeding nightly?"

"Yes…I had an extra packet tonight as well."

He smiled.

"Good. You'll need your strength. I have a feeling this little mission the humans are undertaking will be nothing short of a bloodbath."

_Mmm…_ he thought, _bloodbath…glarrrrr…!_

"Ahem," he coughed, recollecting his thoughts, "If I call you for backup, kill this one before you come over. I couldn't stand her escaping and divulging any more of the Hunters' secrets."

He cast a quick glance at Jessica, and she felt as though two needles of ice were being drug up and down her skin. He turned and walked to the door, pausing in the doorway. He grinned, and gave a quick tug to the brim of his hat, and vanished like the morning mist.

Jessica looked at her arms, her eyes streaming with red, salty tears. The burns had mostly healed, leaving irritated white blotches. She shook her head in disbelief. She sat up.

"Hey…uh, Sarah, right?"

"Seras."

"Seras. Oh. Who was that? The one you called 'Master'. He wasn't human…"

Seras smiled softly.

"My Master…is the vampire Alucard. He made me a vampire...sired me, they call it, I guess."

"Alucard…yeah, I met him once before…when I was…"

_When I was alive. Sheesh! Am I forgetting my human self already? I met him about a year ago. He claimed to be a dhampyr, and a son of Dracula who'd turned against his father to aid humanity. He helped us find Dracula's castle and kill Mr. Burns…Shit, Mr. Burns! I can't believe it all._

Seras leaned back, her fingers locked over one knee.

"Woolgathering, Jessica?"

"What?"

"Nothing," she joked, "You've never read _Dune_ I take it."

"Meh, never have."

"Heh. So, what do want to do?"

Jessica made a puzzled and slightly apprehensive face.

"Like what?"

"Getting out of this cage: what would you do?"

Jessica blinked.

"Gah, I don't know. Go to Bloater's at the Squidport, I guess."

"That's a bar, right?"

"Yeah, the young peoples' spot."

"The drinks wouldn't do you any good. Alcohol doesn't affect us Midians. No 'buzz', no hangover, nothing."

Jessica curled her upper lip.

"Shit! I mean, we can't drink?"

Seras frowned.

"Normal food hurts to eat. And it doesn't do you any good. I've gotten by just on blood for five years."

Jessica sighed.

"We can taste, but the unpleasant reflex more than undoes any enjoyment from it."

"Like I drank for taste anyway."

"I meant food too, Jessica."

_Food too…Food too? Shit, shit, shit! I can't eat, I can't drink…fuck, I can't smoke…I need to drink blood, and I'm like this forever. Crap! Why'd I do this?_

The image of a red, yellow, and black insect with a death's head upon its back flickered in her mind's eye.

"Oh yeah, that's why."

The last dying sliver of a moon crept over the mountains, weakly emitting its remaining luminosity before falling into the sea to die.

A brighter light, by human design, fell upon the iron gates. A Hummer crashed into the gates, tearing them out of the wall and throwing them to the ground. He massive vehicle rolled over it, followed by a Canyonero SUV, and two Jeeps bearing the Hellsing crest. The vehicles pulled into a circle, and their occupants exited, guns drawn.

"Establish a perimeter," the Hellsing captain shouted, "Careful! Be sharp lads!"

Gina heard screams and gunfire, then just screaming, louder and more desperate, and finally silence.

Up on the hill, where the old money of Springfield buried their dead until the ground had been filled with bodies, Camilla stood with her arms in the air, chanting in a harsh and guttural tongue, with the _Necronomicon_ resting in front of her in the hands of an angel statue. Mariya stood by her side, leaning against a tombstone and grinning, while several ghouls and reanimated corpses lulled about, and Alex and his droogies passed the time by shooting dice and drinking blood cocktails. An enormous wolf dashed between the headstones, his muzzle dripping and gleaming black in the moonlight. He reached Mariya, and lowered his head and curled one front leg in a quadrapedal 'bow'.

"Report, Fenris."

The wolf reared on its hind legs, its back paws widening into feet. Its jaw shortened and its forehead rose, giving him a more human appearance. In a gurgling growl he answered.

"The Hunters are here. I've already tasted the blood of three of them."

He grinned and licked his mouth. Mariya looked at Camilla, who, still chanting shot her a nervous glance and nodded. Mariya clapped her hands.

"Redeads, ghouls, vampyre! We have intruders! Wipe them out!"

"Right-o lads," Alex chirped, standing up and donning his bowler derby, cane in one hand, "Time for a bit'o the old ultraviolence!"

The Hellsing troops began shouting and firing. They crouched behind tombstones, firing their weapons and flinging grenades. Gina and Lisa ducked behind the base of a tall statue. Lisa looked around the corner.

"I can't see what we're firing at!"

Gina didn't answer, but crouched with her pistol drawn. She saw a drop of blood land on her pistol, and immediately spun away from the statue, rising to her feet and firing her .45. A vampire dropped from the cement angel's shoulder and exploded into a burst of ashes at the ground. Lisa blinked and coughed.

"Thanks."

A vampire popped up behind Gina. Gina slammed the back of her fist into its nose, then brought the fist down to its groin, and back up into its nose. The vampire staggered backwards, and Gina delivered a spinning high kick to its temple. The vampire fell to the ground, but leapt to its feet immediately. Gina shot it twice in the chest, and it fell to the ground and died. Another vampire leapt down from the statue and grabbed Gina's waist, its fangs heading towards her neck. Gina grabbed her knife in her left hand and one of the vampire's in her right, and twisted around, using the vampire's arm to turn him around. She stabbed it through the chest, and it crumbled into dust. Gina picked up her pistol and sheathed her knife, then, grabbing Lisa's hand, pulled her to her feet and lead her down the rows of headstones.

"Come on, we're going to the frontline."

Utter fired the last few rounds his AK-107's magazine contained, then ejected it and loaded a fresh one.

"So," he shouted to Brian over the constant screaming and explosions, "Vhat ist ze difference between a verevolf und a vampire in ze form of a volf?"

Brian hissed as a bullet struck him in his chest, and stepped backwards. Another struck his chest, and he saw the ghoul shooting at him. He aimed and shot it.

"Well, werewolves are larger, with more hand-like paws and thicker snouts. They're much larger than ordinary wolves. Vampires, when they take of wolf shape, which is rare as there a few vampires who can do so in the first place, take on the form of an ordinary wolf, not an enormous, lupine monster that can stand on its hind legs and has opposable digits."

He was shot again. He felt as though a ball-pin hammer had struck him in the ribs. He suck to his knees holding his chest. He saw a vampire holding a lever-action rifle. She was laughing. He took aim with his AR and fired. The 6.50mm rounds shredded her chest, killing her.

"Good thing you have your vest, eh Callahan," Dolph joked, bringing down a lycanthrope with his 357 SIG.

"That it is, mate."

"Jah, das is fortunate."

Homer had just had just pulled his axe out of the head of a ghoul when a vampire slashed him across his back.

"Yow!"

Marge leapt behind the vampire and swung her katana.

"Watch your keister, meister!"

She sliced the muscles just above the vampire's buttocks. His back fell forward and he caught himself on the ground with his hands. Homer raised his axe.

"Fore!"

He swung and cut the vampire's head in half.

"Few, thanks Marge."

Marge smiled and then quickly drew her pistol, firing at the mob of ghouls advancing at her right. Homer drew his revolver and fired three times, eventually hitting a ghoul in the forehead. A ghoul grabbed at Homer from behind. He threw his head back, hitting it in the nose. The ghoul staggered backwards and Homer swung his axe one-handed, knocking out one of the ghoul's legs. Homer cocked his pistol.

"Stupid zombie, kicks are for _ribs_!"

He kicked the ghoul several times in the chest, then shot it in the eye, killing it. A chalk-faced man with a blood-covered baseball bat stepped out from behind a monument. Homer shot it in the face, but it did not fall. Homer fired again, hitting it above the left eye, and still it didn't die, but instead began advancing, smiling.

"Marge…," Homer whined, "Marge…this zombie isn't dying! Marge?"

Marge was surrounded by ghouls, and trying to hack them down with her

"I'm...yah! I'm kinda busy, Homer!"

Homer holstered his pistol and readied himself. The living dead man swung the bat, and Homer blocked it, holding his axe vertically, then brought the axe head to the creature's temple at an angle. Blood and fragmented bone. The thing whacked Homer's head with its bat.

"D'oh!"

The creature swung again and again.

"D'oh! D'oh! D'oh! D'oh! D'oh! Stop that, it's really painful!"

The creature stopped beating Homer over the head and looked at the bat, scratching its head in bewilderment. Its bewilderment only increased as it saw its bat, and the hand holding it, go flying into the air. It looked back at Homer and saw him holding his sawed-off 1870 lever-action shotgun. Homer spun it on his hand, cocking it, and fired again, the cloud of silver-plated lead shot disintegrating its head. The headless corpse staggered forward, and Homer re-cocked his shotgun and blew off one of the corpse's legs. The corpse fell to the ground, but still crawled forward. Homer fired his shotgun twice, blasting off both arms at the elbows. The disembodied hands still crawled forward.

"Ok. Now this is getting ridiculous."

He kicked both hands aside and reloaded his shotgun. Two more creatures approached him, and Homer shot one in the head with a slug shell. The shell made a huge hole in the creature's skull, but the thing kept coming, and pulled out a tire iron.

"Marge!"

Homer looked back to where Marge was. She was completely obscured by the mass of ghouls surrounding her.

"Marge!"

The two ghouls advanced menacingly. Homer backed up, aiming his shotgun.

_Okay brain, save me this once and I'll give up beer._

_Really?_

…_Yes…_

_You promise this time?_

_No._

_Sorry._

_Oh please! Pretty pretty please?_

_Alright…_

Homer removed the chambered shell from his shotgun and placed a special blue one in. He aimed at the ghouls' faces, closed his eyes, and fired. There was a blinding flash, and the ghouls were temporarily blinded. They blinked several times, and as their vision slowly returned, they saw Homer running away. One looked at the other, and saw a lit stick of dynamite stuck into his pants. The dynamite exploded, and the two corpses were blown to pieces.

Homer threw two grenades at the crowd of ghouls surrounding his wife. The grenades bought down dozens of ghouls. Marge hacked her way out of the mob, and Homer slaughtered the ghouls with shotgun blasts and, for one of them, a quick strike from the butt of his gun.

Deeper into the cemetery, the Hellsing troops were running into great difficulty. A lieutenant shouted into the radio.

"Affirmative, we are hitting our targets, but the rounds are not killing them. Inflicting heavy damage but not killing! Over."

Back in the van, Corporal Ferguson spoke into the radio receiver.

"Are you sure that they aren't humans in heavy body armor? Over."

"Well sir, some are naked, so no, they can't be humans in armor. We're blowing huge bits off of 'em and making smack-on headshots, but no kill sir. And they're advancing!"

"Hrmmm…must be those strange creatures that Callahan and Simpson reported seeing. Lieutenant, order your men to shoot for their knees. Disable them! Halt their advance."

"Alright sir! But sir, some of them is armed, and they're more accurate than any ghoul! We're suffered heavy losses, and I don't think we can make any advances at this rate."

Ferguson sighed and rubbed his bald head.

"Alright, I'll put in a call for reinforcements."

He hung up the receiver and sighed. Little did his men know that he knew exactly how bad the casualties were. _Thirty men, eleven dead, six wounded._ All Hellsing troops had been secretly implanted with multiple microchips and tiny, bioelectrically-powered radio transceivers: a microscopic network that reported their position and monitored their heart rate, body temperate, blood pressure, blood oxygen saturation, and adrenaline levels, enabling their commander to monitor their position and condition. _This is turning out to be a right bloody massacre. Charge of the Light Brigade all over again._

Bart and Gina fought side by side. Bart killed the freaks at long distance with his .50 Beowulf, while Gina slaughtered them up close with Bart's longsword and her kung-fu.

Bob and Francesca met up with them, the two couples having acted as a pincer on a column of ghouls and reanimated corpses. Bob stood at Bart's left, firing his 10mm.

"Well Bart, I'm impressed by your skill and accuracy-and your prowess in melee combat. Twelve years ago I would have thought you on the course to become a useless American, bound to a barcalounger and addicted to corn syrup and fried cheeses."

He fired three quick shots, bringing down a trio of ghouls. Bart smirked and loaded a fresh magazine into his assault rifle. He shot a creature once in the skull, and, after seeing the mark the shot made and that the thing was still on its feet and advancing, he switched his rifle into full auto and shot off both of the creature's legs. The crippled corpse drew a small pistol and fired at Bart. Bob shot the gun out of the creature's hand, and then proceeded to shoot off both its hands.

"Also," head said, reloading his pistol, "I commend you and your love of Miss Vendetti. We seem to have the same taste in women."

Bart looked over at Gina. A vampire leapt at her, and she threw herself on her back. As then vampire fell upon her she caught it in the stomach with her boots and redirected it into a tombstone. As it clambered to its feet Gina took a silver stake and stabbed it in the heart. Another vampire charged at her, and she threw the stake, hitting the creature squarely between the eyes. He then looked at Francesca, who leapt down from a monument, catching a ghoul's face between her legs and snapping its neck by twisting it with her thighs. She spun around, legs scissoring in the air, and somersaulted onto her feet. She did a low judo kick on a ghoul with an axe, knocking it to the ground. She grabbed a ghoul, twisted its neck one way, then the other, and then pulled up hard, twisting it, pulling the head and the spine completely out of the ghoul's body.

"You mean Italian chicks that could kick both our asses?"

"Precisely."

The Hellsing soldiers continued to lead the charge, driving deeper into the cemetery. The used to the tombstones for cover as more and more gun-wielding foes attacked and their casualties mounted.

"Forward! Wave technique! Keep the fire on those freaks!"

"Grenade!"

They charged forward, the Springfield Hunters maintaining their flanks and cleaned up the wounded freaks their charge left on the ground.

One Hellsing soldier saw movement on the top of the hill. He looked through his scoped M-16A2 and saw Camilla. He whispered into his headset radio.

"Team leader, this is Bulldog two, I've got her in my sights."

"Take the shot man, kill her!"

He looked through the scope, setting his crosshairs on Camilla's forehead. He closed his eyes and steadied his rapid breathing.

"In the name of God…the impure souls of the Undead will be cast into eternal damnation…amen!"

He opened his eyes, only to see a red eye with a slit-like pupil looking back at him. He gasped and saw an enormous black wolf straddling his rifle.

"AaaAhmehn" it gurgled. He had barely begun to scream when the wolf's jaws closed around his skull, crushing it. A dozen pale creatures began to bound down from the hill, leaping off of and over the gravestones and falling upon the Hellsing infantry.

A group of five soldiers fired at one. It zigzagged between the headstones, always moving towards them, until it stood looking down on them from the gravestone behind them. It was tall and pale, its skin white and wrinkled. It lacked chin, nose, and lips, its face all browridge and fangs. Its ears were large and pointed, sticking out from the sides of its head and quivered with an unsettling nervousness. It was clad in red and black. Its birdlike feet bare, its bare talons clutching the headstone and leaving deep scratches in the marble. It drew a broadsword and leapt upon them. One swing of its blade killed two men, and with a swipe of its clawed hand it killed two more. The remaining fifth tried to aim his weapon, but the creature leapt up into to the air and kicked the barrel down. With its other foot it knocked the man on his back. It dropped onto him and began to feed.

The vampires tore through the Hellsing troops, their claws ripping their flesh like wet tissue paper and their steely blades cleaving men in half. Bodies and body parts flew into the air as they tossed them like a pitch fork tosses hay. They dodged their shots with ease, and their chitinous armor deflected most indirect shots. Even direct shots to the heart only caused them to slow until their wounds healed.

Yumie charged at an übervampire. The Midian drew its sword and blocked her katana. She parried its attacks and countered fiercely, but could not hit it. Each time she saw an opening the creature dodged her strike and returned a counterstrike, and it was all she could do to block it each time.

The vampire locked their blades and leaned in on her. Yumie sneered and pushed back, trying to free her sword. The vampire's left hand shot for her throat and grabbed it, squeezing tight. Yumie tried to gasp but could not, and the world began to blur around her. Several shots rang out, louder than all the rest, and the vampire released her, staggering forward. Yumie saw five red wounds in its left flank, and cleaved its head from its shoulders. Heinkel fired two more shots, hitting the head and killing the freak. Yumie smiled at Heinkel, who winked at her. Another übervamp pounced on Heinkel its talons tearing into her side. Yumie rushed to save her, but another freak came sprinting towards her through the rows of graves. Kearney saw it and fired in .50 Desert Eagle, hitting it twice in the heart, once in the throat, and twice in the jaw. Yumie lobbed off its head, and then stabbed it, and the creature crumbled into ash. She raced towards the vampire mauling Heinkel. The creature had crossed her arms across her chest and was leaning it, its jaw unhinged and hanging wide open, ready to tear out her throat. A bright light shone upon its face, and it looked up to see Gina aiming the tactical light on her M-16 at it. It sat up, growling, and Gina fired a burst of ten shots at its chest, piercing its shell and shredding its heart. Yumie's katana sliced through its muscle and tendons, and its head fell to the ground. Heinkel shoved the vampire off of her and set her pistol right against the temple of its severed head. She fired, and the vampire burst into dust. She stood up, wincing in pain, and reloaded her pistols. Yumie set her hand on her shoulder.

"I'm alright, Yumie."

She looked and saw three more übervamps approaching.

"Sheisse!"

She took aim at them, and Yumie assumed fighting stance and raised her katana. A large metal tube slid between them. The looked and found it to be the barrel of Seras Victoria's _Harkonen_. Seras grinned.

"Might wanna cover your ears."

She fired, and the shot struck the middle of the three approaching freaks, piercing its heart. The round exploded in an immense inferno, consuming the three vampires and several dozen ghouls.

"Hot damn, chick!" Gina laughed, loading a new magazine, "Glad you're here. Bout time we got more help from you Brits than your stupid soldiers. These guys are as helpful as stormtroopers."

"What? You mean Alucard hasn't shown?"

"Nope," she answered, firing her rifle in a continuous burst.

_Master, where are you?_

Bart tossed a super vampire into a monument. Dolph blasted its chest with his shotgun, and Bart decapitated it with his broadsword. Dolph pulled out his 357 SIG and shot it through one eye.

"These things are too freakin' tough to kill," he grumbled.

"Yeah man."

An übervamp leapt down from a statue, and Bart tried to hold it back with his sword.

"Some help would be nice, dude!"

Dolph tried to aim.

"He's too close! I'll hit you both!" He saw something moving out of the corner of his eye, and spun around and fired. Yet another super vampire was attacking.

Bart fought the creature, unable to strike and only barely able to block its repeated strikes with its sword. He saw something moving behind it, and feared it to be another vampire. Too his horror and amazement he saw a clawed hand burst through the vampire's chest and lift it up. A thin blade sliced through its neck, and the head dropped. Another hand grabbed the falling head and crushed it in its talons. The corpse crumbled away, and he saw the dark figure standing in from of him, its red eyes burning like embers in the darkness. In the muzzle flash of Seras' cannon, he saw her face.

"Jess…?"

She smiled, then spun around and dropped to one knee, drawing to enormous pistols.

Bart remembered seeing those same two guns before in Prof. Frink's laboratory. _"'Death' and 'Judgment'. I made them for Alucard, but apparently he considers the .500 S&W Magnum a cheap cartridge, which puzzles me, as it's oh so powerful. He didn't want them, and no human could use these, what with the weight, and the recoil, and they weight eight pounds each. Gloyvin!"_

Bart watched as Jessica fired the twin pistols, the muzzles scarcely rising. The powerful rounds tore apart the super vampires, ripping open their chests, severing limbs and blowing heads clean off. Jessica killed four übervamps in two seconds. She stood up and let the spent clips drop from the massive guns. She loaded two fresh ones in a blur of speed, then turned her head.

"Hi Bart," she drawled, then she snapped into attention and barked at Skinner, "Hey Spanky, what's the sitch?"

Skinner yelled from his foxhole a few feet away, his rifle blazing.

"We've suffered heavy casualties. Two thirds of the Hellsing men are dead or wounded, and we're all pretty banged up ourselves. We're close to the hill, but those damned super freaks are holding us back. We need to get in there and kill the witch before she raises the dead!"

"Seras and me'll take the vampires. Heinkel and Yumie and Gina and Francesca will head up the left flank and kill the witch, and have whoever's left form a line and charge."

"Good plan. Alright men! Come on! Form a line! Push on!"

Seras and Jessica charged into the ranks of vampires, firing and shrieking. The immense projectiles from Seras' cannon severed limbs and heads, while Jessica used her new speed and accuracy to quickly place shot in the vampire's heads and hearts. A sword-wielding übervamp leapt in front of Seras. She fired her _Harkonen_, blowing a fist-sized hole through the creature's left breast. She ejected the spent shell and shoved in a fresh one, firing again. The creature's head flew into the air, and its body slumped over. Seras summoned all her speed and reloaded her weapon. She saw the hole in the vampire's chest slowly contracting. She took aim, and fired. The depleted uranium round splattered the vampire's head, and its corpse burst into flames. It was reduced to ash in seconds.

Jessica holstered her two pistols and began killing her enemies with her hands, her fingertips sprouting razor-sharp claws as strong as steel. She swiped at one of the vampires' chest, and was horrified to see the chest burst open as her claws tore through the creature's flesh as easily as if it were shaving cream. She looked at the blood on her claws, and felt herself moving her hand to her mouth. She opened her mouth and licked the blood off her hand. She felt a sudden rush of energy, and felt the action around her slow. Space and time seemed to congeal. And then the memories came flooding into her. Jessica saw the vampire's thoughts, his experiences, his memories, flowing backwards from the instant of his death to his first waking moments; she felt his every emotion, from his joy at his tenth birthday, to his sadness when his puppy had been hit by a car when he was seven. She felt his pain when he was beaten up in the third grade for standing up for a girl the bullies had been teasing, and when he broke his wrist in football in his senior year at high school. It all passed through her so swiftly that she was disoriented and lost, unable to find herself in the blur of passing memories and thoughts.

A sharp, sudden pain brought her back to the present. An übervampire had pierced her through with a sword. She dropped to her knees, gasping and spitting blood. _This is it. I'm dead…and now I'm going to Hell…_

There was a bright flash of firelight, and she felt the vampire relieve the pressure on the blade. She looked up, and saw Bart firing his .44 Magnums. He was firing wildly, hitting the creature all over, but failing to perform the correct heartshot-decapitation-headshot combination needed to kill the powerful monster. Jessica reached behind herself and pulled out the sword. The pain made her weak and dizzy. She fell forward, then, slowly, pushed herself up and struggled to get to her feet. Bart had emptied both pistols, and the creature, though riddled with enormous, bleeding wounds, was still alive and on its feet. The wounds slowly stopped bleeding, and then closed, contracting like pupils until they vanished completely. The creature snarled with renewed choler, and Bart hurried to reload his two pistols. Jessica gripped the blade tightly and dashed forward, impaling the monster through the heart with its own weapon. She grabbed the top of its head with one hand and slashed it across the neck with her other, decapitating it. She knocked the corpse aside with her free hand, and squeezed with the other, crushing the creature's brain, killing it. She cast a quick look over at Bart, and smiled. Her eyes rolled up into her sockets, and her eyelids fluttered. She collapsed. Bart rushed over to her, lifting up her head.

"Jess! Jessica!"

Seras appeared beside him, setting her hand on Jessica's left breast. _She cold…her skin's gone pale too…_She bit her lower lip nervously, and looked at Bart.

"She needs blood. She only fed for the first time this night, and hardly drank any."

Bart was unsure of what to do, then, seeing her meaning, nodded slowly. He took out his bowie knife and, holding his hand of Jessica's open mouth, slowly pulled the blade along the palm of his hand. The blood trickled into her mouth and dripped on her lips. Bart watched patiently, while Seras picked up her rifle and charged back into battle. Several Hellsing soldiers rushed past him, weapons blazing.

"Charge!"

"Beat back those buggers!"

Bart made a tight fist with his left hand, forcing more blood to drip into her mouth.

"C'mon Jess!"

Jessica's eyelids twitched. She closed her mouth, swallowed, and then licked her lips.

"That's it Jess!"

Bart cut his left wrist, producing even more profuse bleeding. He held the wound to her mouth. Jessica's lips closed around it, and she began to suck it, gulping down his blood. She set two hands on his arm, holding it to her mouth as she drank more and more, the color returning to her cheeks. She sat up, drinking with greater vigor.

"Okay…that's good Jess. Jess…that's good, now…Jess!"

Jessica was draining Bart's blood. She opened her mouth, white fangs gleaming, and bit into his wrist. Bart winced.

"Please Jess! Jessica, stop it! Jessica!"

He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small crucifix, and thrust it at Jessica's face. She opened her eyes and flew backward. Bart sobbed and tucked the crucifix away. He held his face in his hands, sighing and shaking his head. Jessica crawled over to him, and set a hand on his shoulder. Bart jumped slightly, then looked at her, tears running down his face. She set her hand on his cheek, and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back, his heart swelling as if it would break. She pulled away, biting his lip lightly. She looked a beautiful and yet pitiful creature in the moonlight, her pale yellow skin streaked with drying blood. She kissed him on the forehead, and then dashed off into the darkness, morphing into a great grey wolf.

Bart sat on the cold ground, clutching his self-inflicted wounds. Wounded soldiers limped past him, clutching at bleeding cuts and bullet holes or favoring broken limbs or carrying the bodies of murdered brethren. A medic helped Father Nell along, aided by Millhouse, Gino, and a Hellsing regular with a broken arm. Millhouse, seeing a moving figure along the ground, pointed his M1 carbine at Bart and rushed over.

"Bart!" He shouldered his weapon and squatted down. "Hey guys, it's Bart! You okay Bart?"

"Yeah, man," he said, getting to his feet, "You alright, padre?"

He walked over to him and saw that Father O'Flaherty was severely wounded. The right side of his face was covered with bandages, and the wrappings were damp with dark blood. His nose, too, was covered with bandages, and, though heavily wrapped, was visibly crooked. Both his hands were bandaged and both arms were in slings. His right leg was bandaged and tied with gauze to a shotgun as a makeshift splint.

"Euh…"

"One of those albino buggers got to him. He held pretty well just using 'is 'oly water sprinkler," the medic explained. The man looked down at Bart's bleeding hand. "Looks like one got to you too. What'd you do, try an' pet on the head, eh?"

The man chuckled, then, seeing Bart's apparent lack of amusement, coughed and said, "Well, come on then, let's have a look at it. Davies, hold the vicar's arm while I patch this bloke up."

The Hellsing soldier-Davies-took Father O'Flaherty's arm and Millhouse the other while the medic tended to Bart's hand.

"There you go. Should stop the bleedin' pretty much. Keep it clean and dry now."

"Thanks dude. Hey, me an' Millie'll take care of Father."

"Thanks. Come on Davies, let's check for more survivors."

Bart and Millhouse helped Father Nell limp out of the cemetery and down the road to the small emergency tent that Dr. Nick had set up.

"Hi, everybody!"

"Hi Dr. Nick!"

"So, what seems to be the problem with our friend Father Joe?"

"Father Nell."

"Whatever."

Millhouse helped Father Nell onto a gurney.

"Broken leg, two broken arms, animal bite near his right eye…" Bart began.

One of the nurses began to cut off Father O'Flaherty's shirt and pants. Millhouse gasped as he saw all the bullet wounds in his chest and stomach.

"And the Apu treatment to his abdomen and thorax," Nick said, "No problem."

"Son," Father Nell croaked, "Get me Father Sean…"

Bart dashed into the tent and searched for Father Sean. He found him changing the dressings on a horribly injured soldier.

"Father Sean! Father Nell needs you. He's hurt bad!"

Father Sean nodded, and quickly taped up the soldier's injuries.

"I'll be right back, lad."

He picked up his missal and his bag and ran after Bart to the tarp outside the tent. Millhouse was holding the Father's hand while Dr. Nick pulled the bullets out of his body.

"Nnn…ahh!"

"Father, Father Sean's here."

Fr. Nell opened his one good eye and looked up, squinting at them.

"Do you want a confession, Father?"

Fr. Nell nodded. Sean opened his bag and pulled out his stole. He threw it around his shoulders and knelt down next to his mentor's ear to whisper to him.

"Earmuffs!" Dr. Nick said, clapping his hands over his ears. Bart and Millhouse both plugged their ears, and Bart and Millhouse did the same. Bart watched as Fr. Nell confessed to Fr. Sean, shaking his head and sobbing, tears running from his exposed eye. He squeezed Sean's hand as he confessed, spilling his heart out to him. Fr. Sean said something, and Fr. Nell nodded, crying. Fr. Sean raised one hand, speaking, his eyes closed, and made the sign of the cross. Fr. Nell slowly raised his bandaged hand to his forehead, then his stomach, and both sides of his chest. Dr. Nick took out a hypodermic syringe and drew a clear solution from a dark glass bottle.

"Time for some morphine!"

He injected Fr. Nell, who sighed and dozed off. Fr. Sean took out a glass bottle filled with a pale green liquid and poured some into his left hand. He dipped this thumb into the liquid and used it to trace a cross over Father Nell's forehead, lips, chest, and the palms of his hands. He opened his missal and prayed in Latin, occasionally making the sign of the cross in the air of the older priest's body.

"Come on, Millhouse. Let's get back to the fight."

Millhouse checked his magazine, then put it back in, and nodded.

"Let's roll."

Heinkel and Yumie led the sneak attack up the left side of the hill. Francesca used her .50 BMG to cover the Hellsing regular's advance. They snuck up the hill.

"It's just two vampires and a lycanthrope," Heinkel whispered, "Ve'll take those two, Gina, Francesca, you take down the vitch. Go!"

The four women charged. The werewolf raced towards them, growling fiercely. Yumie fired her two pistols, and the wolf reared onto its hind legs, swatting at the bullets burning in its skin. Yumie raced forward and rived it through the heart. Francesca and Gina raced to kill Camilla. Francesca took aim with her Uzi, but was knocked off her feet and into a nearby tombstone by Mariya.

"You won't touch my Camilla," she hissed. Gina raised her .45, but Mariya knocked it from her hands then slapped her to the ground. Gina felt three sharp gashes where Mariya's claws slashed her skin.

Yumie pulled her blade out of the wolf's chest and spun around, lobbing off its head. Heinkel advanced on Mariya, firing. Mariya leapt over her shots and kicked Heinkel to the ground. Yumie leapt at her and swung, but Mariya dodged the strike and punched her in the jaw. Yumie staggered back and swung again, Mariya leaping just in time, Yumie's blade leaving a bright red streak in across her stomach. Heinkel sat up and shot Mariya several times in the back. Mariya cringed, then spun around and clocked Heinkel in the jaw, knocking her into the cemetery wall. Yumie raced to Heinkel and took her into her arms.

"Heinkel! Come on Heinkel! Get up!"

Yumie looked up and saw Mariya looming over her. Yumie pulled out Heinkel's .475 Linebaugh revolver. Mariya swatted the gun aside with one hand and then slashed Yumie's face with her other set of claws. She grabbed Yumie by the throat, and lifted her off the ground.

"A nun, are you? Are you still a virgin? I'd best take care of that before I kill you. You'd be troublesome as a vampire!"

Mariya grinned wickedly, fangs barred. She opened her mouth and gasped, dropping Yumie against the wall. The tip of a bright silver stake emerged from her chest, her blood glinting in the moonlight. Gina stood behind her, forcing the stake deeper and deeper, gritting her teeth. Mariya collapsed, and Gina drew her katana and cut off Mariya's head. She picked up Heinkel's revolver and fired it. The noise and flash was more than Gina had been prepared for, and she dropped the revolver. Mariya's body crumbled into dust. Camilla, still chanting, turned around and saw Mariya's body as it disappeared. She stopped chanting and shrieked. She seized the _Necronomicon _and began flipping through it. Gina picked up one of Heinkel's 9mm pistols and fired at Camilla. The bullet wounds vanished as soon as they appeared. Camilla found the page she was looking for, and pointed at Gina, shouting a curse. A bright flash of light shot from her hand, and a phantasm in the form of an immense snake shot for Gina. The phantasm struck Gina and knocked her back into the wall. Camilla watched, mortified.

_That was a killing curse! By what charm did she survive that?_ The angel statue behind her exploded. Francesca had come to, and was aiming her long rifle at her. Behind her she heard grenades and machine gun fire behind her. She glanced quickly over her shoulder, and saw the Hunters and Hellsing troops charging up the hill. She flipped through her book. Jessica lighted on the remnants of the statue behind her, pistols pointed at her.

"_Deslegrate muri tempi et intervalia_!"

She vanished in a burst of flames just as Jessica and Francesca's bullet's passed through the space she had occupied. Seeing the flash, Alex yelled out from the fray.

"Looks like it's our time to bugger off, mates!"

He and his fellow vampires vanished in wisps of mist.

Note: By "Kiwi's" Jessica was referring to New Zealanders (sometimes jokingly called by their Australian neighbors the "South Seas Poms", Pom or Pommie being slang for Britons). New Zealanders are sometimes called such because kiwis-both the small, brown, fuzzy bird and the small, brown, fuzzy fruit-are both native to the island.

_Deslagrate muri tempi et intervalia_ loosely translates to "burn down the walls of space and time". In case you didn't notice/care, it's the spell recited to activate the Phoenix Gate, which allows the user to travel through to any time or place desired, in the animated series "Gargoyles" (God, why'd they cancel that show? Oh yeah, Greg Weisman left and after that Disney totally effed it up. And now they won't even release the second half of the second season! I demand closure!)


	28. Fantasia

The Hunters and Hellsing troops mulled around Brian's house, collecting their thoughts and tending their wounds. Some lay drooping on the couches and chairs, some curled up like dogs by the fireplace. The leaders of the Springfield chapter of the Order sat with Corporal Ferguson at the dinning room table.

Brian sat next to Lisa, puffing on his inhaler while helping her pluck bits of shrapnel from her eyebrow.

"Ow! Make sure you get it all!"

"Don't worry…most of it's still sticking out."

He tweezed a centimeter-long sliver from just to the right of her eye.

"It's amazing I didn't get any in my eyes," she remarked.

Brian leaned in close and looked at her eyes.

"God wouldn't let eyes that beautiful get damaged."

Lisa smiled.

"I mean it. They're brighter than any stars I've ever seen."

Lisa squeezed Brian's hand and looked at his own eyes. _Yours are so beautiful too, Brian. So full of life, so full of love…so touched by anguish and torture that I'll never understand. They're older than your face, just like your soul. They've seen things some people have never seen, others have died seeing what you've seen._

_Lisa, what I'd give to be a part of you. I wish I could cut out my heart and put it into you, be combined into you, never be apart from you, not be able to live without you, even as my heart already is unable to endure even the thought of something hurting you._

Lisa looked at his lips. _So kissable_. She had forgotten that her mother, her father, Bart, Gina, Sideshow Bob, her old principal, one of her ex-boyfriends, and half a dozen other people were present. She leaned in and kissed him.

"A-heh-hem," Corporal Ferguson coughed. Lisa and Brian broke their kiss immediately.

The corporal looked around the room and resumed speaking.

"Anyway, with Fr. O'Flaherty out of commission, who do I refer to as leader of the Springfield chapter of the Knights of St. Michael? Vicar Sean?"

Fr. Sean looked down. He rubbed the stubble on his chin, then looked up at the corporal and nodded.

"Yes, Corporal. But I'd like to add that Lt. Skinner and Mr. Terwilliger will be my prime advisors, and that for military strategy you may defer to either of them, Lt. Skinner preferably."

Bob raised one eyebrow, and whispered something to his wife and son that remained unintelligible to the others.

"As for the disappearance of Alucard, I-"

Ferguson's sentence was interrupted by the ringing of a telephone. Brian got up and walked out of the room to answer it. He picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hello Callahan. How's Lisa?"

Brian winced. It was Alucard, and his voice made Brian feel as though the room had suddenly become colder.

"I'd like to speak to one of the priests, please."

Brian set down the earpiece and returned to the dinning room.

"It's Alucard on the phone."

"Well speak of the Devil," Bob sighed.

"He wants to talk to you, Father."

Father Sean stood up and walked over to the phone.

"Yes, vampire?"

"Sorry to run off like that. My mistress called me home. I'm over the Atlantic right now. Sir Integra demanded a report, and when I gave it to her, she was understandably quite upset. I'll be seeing you all again shortly. She's currently on the phone with President 'Dubya', and has calls to make to Downing Street, Buckingham, and the Vatican."

"I see…"

"I hope you grasp the gravity of the situation, priest. Things are bad, and it will take more than a handful of civilians and a small detachment of troops to defeat this evil."

Fr. Sean heard a distant knock at the door.

"That should be Mulder and Sculley. They'll be telling you that they've been ordered to report back to headquarters for a full report. Already the president has ordered the FBI pull all X-files involving vampirism, witchcraft, and Satanism, and they'll be needed to brief him and the military personnel on the matter. Be seeing you, Father."

Fr. Sean put down the phone and walked through the living room and to the foyer. Three Hellsing soldiers were pointing their rifles at Mulder and Sculley while their commander scrutinized their IDs.

"Let them in lads. They're with us."

They lowered their rifles and stepped aside, allowing the two to enter.

"Thank you, Father," Sculley said, "We won't be staying long."

"You've been ordered back to HQ, haven't you?"

Mulder grinned.

"Wow, gossip spreads fast in this town."

"Aye, even without Helen Lovejoy."

"We'll be calling if they're any developments."

"I bet you will. From what I've heard this has already gone all the way up the President. He's asked for all your case files concerning similar incidents."

Mulder and Sculley looked at one another.

"Well, I see you keep yourself well-informed. Anyways, we'll be seeing you padre."

"Take care you two. Safe travels."

"Thank you, Father."

Father Sean returned to the briefing room.

Outside, Bart and Gina stole a moment of privacy. They sat on a stone bench in the dim moonlight, kissing passionately, Gina letting Bart squeeze her tight in his strong arms.

"God, I don't what I would have done if that bitch had killed you, babe."

Gina kissed him again, her arms around his neck. She gave him a lopsided grin.

"Don't worry, bad boy. I've taken worse."

Bart ran two finger tips down her neck and chest. He felt down between her breasts, and noticed a small, rectangular patch. He looked closer at her neck and saw a thin, brown ribbon. He pulled on it, and saw that it was a Brown Scapular. The edges were warped and blackened, as if it had been held over a fire.

"This is what saved you, isn't it?"

She smiled.

"I became a Scapularite just yesterday. Father Nell said that I'm required to say a daily rosary, attend Mass each Sunday, and…," she raised her eyebrows, "'Practice appropriate sexual behavior for my age, marital status, and stage of life'."

"Oh," Bart said, "So no more you an' me rockin' the casbah?"

She sighed.

"Yeah."

"Ha ha!"

"Nelson, fuck off!"

"Eh," he said with a shrug, and he went back into the house.

"I'm sorry Bart."

"Yeah, not as much as me, I bet," he mumbled.

"I mean it, you're great."

"Really?"

"First time I ever got off for real with a guy." She grinned again. "Bet that really boosts your confidence."

"Meh, a little."

_I AM IRON MAN! DA-Na-Na-Na-NA-Na-Na, Na Na-na!_

She kissed him again. Bart kissed back fiercely, and Gina moaned lightly into his mouth. Bart reached for her breasts, and Gina took his hands in hers and kissed them.

"Sorry Bart," she kissed him on the cheek. "When this is over, and I don't need this, we'll do it as much as you can take. Right now, I need this."

He stood up, holding her hands.

"Gina, no. I want that thing to keep working. Yeah, it's great it protects you from vampires and magic and crap, but I don't want you getting sick, getting in a wreck, or even falling on your beautiful butt."

She smiled coyly.

"But that means we'll never get to make love."

Bart grinned.

"Hey, he said 'appropriate for your marital condition'."

Gina's eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly. She promptly resumed her cocky grinning and stood up, playfully shoving Bart away.

"Get out!"

"No lie, babe. I wanna spend the rest of my life with you."

They kissed again.

"You better keep good on your promise when this is over, Barty boy."

"I will. Damn hell straight I will."

They kissed once more, and then Gina giggled and slapped his face.

"C'mon tough guy, let's go get something to drink."

They walked hand in hand back to the house. Jessica walked out from the bushes and collapsed on the stone bench they had been sitting on. She lie on her side, knees drawn up to her chest, and sobbed, tears of blood running from her eyes. Seras sat down next to her. Jessica looked up at her.

"I…I saw it all…I saw him…and _her_! It was like I was there, there when he met her back twelve years ago! There just his year when he saved her life! I…I saw, and felt, and heard his thoughts as he…saw her naked and…felt her touching him…and I could feel how much he liked it…how much more he loved her."

Seras sat there, holding Jessica's head in her lap and rubbing her back. She sat there with her while Jessica cried until the sky began to lighten in the east. Then Seras helped her to her feet, and hugged her, kissing her on the cheek, and left to sleep in her coffin. Jessica found a patch of soft earth, and dug into it. She covered herself entirely, and fell into a deep sleep.

Fr. Sean said morning Mass in Fr. Nell's stead. Afterwards, the gaggle of old women who attended daily Mass were eager for an explanation as to why O'Flaherty had not been there.

"He isn't ill, is he?"

"Yes, he took a rather bad fall last night. Tripped over his own slipper and broke his wrist and hip. He'll not be able to say Mass for a good few weeks."

"Oh bother! And he promised to come over for lunch this Thursday!"

He stood outside the church and spoke with the women for a few minutes. One by one the old ladies went their own way, and at last Fr. Sean was alone, save for Seamus, who was watering the roses.

"Lovely sermon, Father," he said, gently tipping his rusted watering can so that the water trickled out in a slow stream.

"Thank you, Seamus."

Fr. Sean went to the rectory and changed into his normal vestments. He took his bicycle and rode down the avenue, stopping outside Sanjay Nahasapeemapetilon's new Kwik-E-Mart for a water and a newspaper, and then cycled over to Shorty's.

_Hot already today_, he thought as he threw his empty water bottle in the trash bin outside Shorty's diner. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and continued inside the restaurant. He sat down at the counter and ordered an oatmeal and a cup of coffee. He opened his newspaper and perused the headlines.

"_Pope Peeves Muslims with Medieval Quote"_. He smiled. _I knew Benedict would be a real man. He'll show those filthy heathens what for. "Local"…"Six-Year-Old devours litter of kittens"…Jesus, Mary and Joseph! "Harold Johansen, aged six, was discovered by his mother, sitting in his parents' garage, eating the four kittens their family cat had earlier this week while the confused mother cat watched in bewilderment. Young Harold then chased his mother with a hatchet he took from the wall and chased her into the house. When the police arrived it took several grown men to disarm and subdue the boy. Officer Lou, no last name given, said that he was acting 'like some kind of animal'…this is only one of the recent bizarre acts of violence that have occurred in the past weeks._

"Father?"

Father Sean jolted in his seat. Seamus was standing behind him.

"You startled me, lad!"

"Sorry, Father."

"It's alright. Come, have a seat, join me."

"Thank ye, Father."

He sat down on the red vinyl stool next to Fr. Sean. The waitress walked by, and he ordered coffee, bacon, and toast.

"So, Father," Seamus asked in a low whisper, taking off his tweed cap and twisting it in his hands, "Things goin' worse with th' vampires and whatnot?"

"Aye."

"I heard about Father O'Flaherty. Poor man. God help his speedy recovery."

"Amen."

"Are we on for tonight then?"

"We are. You and Mel are to help a group of Hellsing men defend the cemetery from any further attempts to revive the dead. The rest of the group will be on patrol throughout town."

Seamus nodded.

"So, I ought to use the .308 then? The .338 LM is too powerful for use near civilians. Too loud to boot."

Bart leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"That was The Fix, Steppenwolf and The Cure before them. Now, getting back to the modern era, we have Modest Mouse and "Alone Down There", from, what has to be one of the best rock albums since "Blood, Sugar, Sex, Magic" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, "The Moon and Antarctica". Check it out."

He took a cigarette from the pack he hid under the control panel and lit it. He took a draw and exhaled through his nose, savoring the taste and burn of it.

"Those'll kill you, ya know."

Bart spun around in his chair, rapidly drawing his flip knife. Jessica Lovejoy stood in the doorway. _What the hell…_ Bart was surprised as much by her dress as he was by her return to the radio station. She was wearing a long dress and denim jacket. Her hands were covered with thick gardening gloves, and her face by large sunglasses, a broad-brimmed hat, and two bandanas. All exposed skin was coated with a thick layer of white zinc peroxide. She walked over to the windows and closed the shutters, and then took her seat next to Bart. She took off her gloves, glasses, scarves and hat. She opened her purse, took out a face wipe, and cleaned the zinc peroxide off of her skin.

"Hey, Bart."

Bart sat perfectly still, staring at her, his knife in his hand.

"You wanna put that away, tough guy?"

"Oh, yeah," he mumbled, and he closed the knife and hooked it to a belt loop on his jeans. "Jess, what are you doing up?"

She grinned.

"Alucard left a present for me. A bottle of his blood. Made me true Class-A bloodsucker, a 'No-Life King', whatever that means. I can go out by day now, just as long as I'm in the dirt by sunup and sundown. The sunlight hurts now, though," and she pulled up her sleeve, revealing a bright red sunburn.

"Ai!"

She smiled, laughing faintly; then, a quiet sadness coming into her eyes, her face fell. She looked into Bart's eyes, and he looked into hers.

_Her eyes used to be brown…now they're red…dark red, like blood…with a brown ring around the red part. She's not the same. She's scary now. _

_Bart…How can I tell you? Drinking your blood…I know you now even more intimately than you could ever believe. And you're farther away from me as ever. I want you to know me as I know you…I want you to drink my blood…to go into the shadows with me and never come out._

"What's the next song?"

He was slow in responding.

"'I Love the Night', by Blue Öyster Cult."

She smiled.

"Appropriate."

"Yeah.."

He coughed nervously. By the time they signed out at six o'clock, Bart was horribly on edge.

_Gah! She looks like Jess, she sounds like her, moves like her, acts like her…but she's not her! There's a weirdness to her, like a hot dog from the Kwik-E-Mart. _

They walked out together. A blind man walked by with his seeing eye dog, and the dog growled as it passed Jessica. _Man, the dogs always know_, she thought.

"So, you need a ride?"

"Nah, I got my car outta impound. I'm heading over to the cemetery. You?"

"I'm…going by Gina's. I'm making her dinner tonight," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Jessica looked down.

"Oh…"

"Yeah."

"I'll see you at Brian's place then…later tonight."

"Yeah. I'll be seeing ya, Jess."

"Sure. See ya."

"Bye."

Jessica drove herself to Brian's house, drops of red blood running down her face the whole while.


	29. The first day of school

The First Day of School

Eric and Felicia sat waiting at the bus stop, sweating slightly in the hot morning sun. Maggie hanging from the branch of a nearby tree, doing pull-ups. Eric and Felicia were chatting about TV shows.

"Naw, but it's such a shame they cancelled _Futurama_."

"Yeah. I keep hearing people say that they're bringing it back, and not on Fox."

"Fox," she said with a sneer. They both turned their heads and spat on the sidewalk. Maggie dropped to the ground and opened her backpack. She removed a paper bag, and pulled out her pistol. She looked down the barrel, smiling.

"Mags, Dad said that's just in case of an emergency. Mom didn't even want you to bring it."

"Don't go flashing it around," Felicia whined.

Maggie smirked.

Eric heard the distant screeching of tires, and saw the school bus come careening around the corner.

"Mags, put it away."

Maggie rolled her eyes and shoved the revolver back in the paper bag.

"Fine," she sighed, picking up her backpack. She took her iPod out of her pocket and plugged her earbuds in. _Let's see…"Breathe"? No, here we go, "Dancing Days"._

The bus came to a sharp stop in front of the bus stop. Eric cringed as he saw several kids fly out of their seats. The doors opened, and "Runnin' with the Devil" was blaring over the speakers; Otto was singing along and playing air guitar.

"Hey, Eric! Whoa, blue hair! Trippy! Felicia, howdy."

Maggie boarded the bus.

"Hey, Otto-man."

"Hey, Mags!" Otto laughed, holding out his hand. Maggie slapped it. "Alright! Hold on kiddos…I'm runnin' late."

He revved the engine and the bus shot off down the street. Maggie caught herself on the seats, then continued to the back of the bus, sitting next to her friends Melissa and April.

"Hey, Maggie."

"Hey, Mel."

Melissa was a high school student, a sophomore, at Springfield High, next to Springfield Elementary, and, as things work, the latter school's source of narcotics. April was in Maggie's class, a poor girl from central Springfield.

"What's up, baby?"

"Not much, April."

She took out her earphones and turned off her mp3 player.

"So, back to the grind," Mel said tiredly.

"Fuck," Maggie groaned, "Do the rest of you automatically delete everything you learned all year long the minute you get off for vacation?"

"Yeah."

"But we aren't all freaks like you who can not do any homework and get A's all year."

"Hey, I do my best to undo the genius genes, babe."

A few seats away, Eric sat looking out the window, gazing at the late-summer greenery.

"Isn't it great, Felly? A brand new year, a fresh start!"

Arlie Skinner sat up and turned around in the seat in front of him.

"Hey, Simpson. Soon as that break bell rings you're handing over penny, ya got it? And you go crying to the teacher or your freaky sister-," he snapped his fingers, and Dolph Jr. popped up in the seat, and punching his palm menacingly.

They reached the school, and piled off the bus, rushing to their lockers to get the books they'd stashed in them the Thursday before at orientation.

"Catch you guys after school," Mel yelled as she went off across the block to SHS.

"Bye-bye, Melissa!"

"See ya, Mel." Maggie looked over her shoulder. "Later, Otto."

"See ya, Magster."

He drove off, humming along to Edgar Winter's "Frankenstein".

"Duh-nuh, nuh, nuhnuh-nuhnuh, duh-nuh nuhnuh nuh-nuhnuhnuh! Oh!"

He saw three kids waiting at a bus stop, and slammed on the brakes.

"Oh man, forgot some! Come on, hurry on kids!"

He turned and started heading around the block. He was about to turn again and swing back around the school when he saw a group of kids at another bus stop.

"Man, I'm, like, spacing out today!"

He decided to swing back by all of the bus stops, and, by the time he had finished his route, the bus was full once more.

"Dang, enrollment's sure gone up since last year! Sorry little dudes, I'll right an excuse or somethin'."

He reached the school and slowed to a stop. He opened the doors and turned around.

"Okay, everybody off, little dudes."

The children sat silently, some swaying slightly. They were sallow and their eyes gleamed red.

"Aw, man."

The bell rang, and the students rushed from their classrooms and out onto the playground.

Maggie had just finished loading her unnecessary books into her locker when she heard something strange. _Sounds like a truck or something. _She walked down the hallway, the bright, sunlit playground lying on the other side of the doorway ahead of her. She heard a strange sound, the screaming of contorting metal. She watched in stunned disbelief as a bus came shrieking across the playground and crashed into the jungle gym. The doors opened, and dozens of small ghouls began to rush out, attacking the stunned and wounded students. Maggie dropped her backpack to the floor. She unzipped it quickly, and reached inside it, pulling out her revolver, the brown paper bag falling from it as she pulled it out. She cocked back the hammer and fired. The shot was dead-on, and the ghoul fell immediately. She unzipped a pocket on her backpack and pulled out a box of bullets. She tucked poured and few into her hand and tucked them in her pocket, then stuck the box in her back pants pocket.

_Eric's out there_.

She cocked her pistol again and ran into the chaotic playground.

"Run, you stupids! They're zombies!" She ran across the playground, the swarming ghouls tracking her with their empty eyes. She found Eric by the kickball wall, surrounded by ghouls. She loaded an extra bullet into her revolver and then emptied all six shots, each one killing its target. Nearly ten ghouls remained, and they were moving ever nearer to their prey. She quickly reloaded her revolver. She saw a basketball on the ground, picked it up, and threw it at one the the ghouls' heads.

"Hey, you Undead freak! Yeah, you!"

She opened fire again, and again her shots were all kills. The three remaining ghouls turned to face her, and became to stagger towards her, moaning and groping at the air. She loaded three shots into her gun and dropped them. She ran over to Eric.

"You okay, Eric?"

He nodded. She grinned, and reloaded her gun again.

"Dang, you are good with that."

She jerked the revolver, and the cylinder snapped into place.

"Where's Felicia?"

"I was going to meet her at the swings."

Maggie nodded.

"Come on."

They raced across the playground, the nearest ghouls chasing after them until a nearer target distracted them and they shambled off after the poor soul. Felicia was at the swings, halfway up one of the chains, a ghoul holding on to her ankle. Maggie aimed from several yards away. _Alright…the drop from here should be only about an inch…adjust for wind…keep still, darn it…steady…_ She fired, and the ghoul dropped into the sand. Eric ran over to her, and she dropped down.

"Are you alright, Felly?"

She threw her arms around him.

"Come on, we gotta go!" Maggie yelled, She made sure that her revolver had a full six shots, then ran off. Eric took Felicia's hand, and they dashed after her.

Kearney sat up at his desk. He felt ill at ease. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk, revealing his prized gold-plated .50 AE caliber Desert Eagle. He picked it up and cocked it. He stood up, sniffing the air in the vain hope it would give him a clue as to his nervousness. He heard a woman screaming, and leapt over his desk and flung open his door. He looked to his right, and saw a ghoul entering the room from the hall. He shot it, and the .50 caliber round obliterated the ghoul's face. _Sheesh, that one was just a kid._ He heard the scream once more, and ran to its source: Mrs. Skinner's office. The door was open, and Edna was backed against the wall of her office, three growling ghouls snatching at her clothing and trying to bite her hands as she slapped and punched at them.

"Mrs. K! Get down!"

He fired five shots, and the ghouls crumbled into dust. Edna crouched in the corner, covered in their rancid blood and offal, and shaking with fear.

"Edna, you okay?"

She nodded, sobbing hysterically.

"Those were….zombies?"

"Ghouls, zombies, yeah, you now. Come on, we'd better leave."

"My ears…"

"This gun's pretty loud. You'll be lucky if you don't have any hearing damage."

He grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet, and lead her out of the office and into the halls. Students and teachers were running for their lives as mobs of growling freaks limped after them. Mr. Largo came tearing down the hall at full sprint, conductor's baton still in hand, and shot out into the streets.

Dolph looked to his right at the thick crowd of ghouls closing in on them.

"Out the front door, come on."

He pulled Edna after himself. They ran outside and around to the back of building to the teacher's parking lot. He took out his car keys and unlocked his car with the remote. He opened the passenger door and shoved Mrs. Krabbappel inside. He ran around to the driver's side and got in. He started the engine, shifted to reverse, and pulled out the parking spot, swinging around.

"Stop!"

He stomped on the brake pedal. He looked over his shoulder and saw Maggie, Eric, and Felicia. He pressed the button to undo the door locks, and the three children hopped in the backseat. Kearney looked at Maggie revolver, and smelled the distinct smell of gunsmoke.

"For once I'm glad a kid brought a gun to school."

He saw the ghouls pressing against the playground fence behind them. He shifted into drive and sped out of the parking lot. He took out his cell phone and handed it to Maggie.

"Call your pop and Skinner."

He saw a shirtless, untidy man running towards the school, and slowed down. It was Otto.

"Need a lift?

Otto stopped running and braced himself against his knees, panting. He was covered with scratches, and had a bleeding bite mark on his right forearm.

"Sure dudes. Thanks."

Brian set down his phone. He clenched his fists, then began to cough. He leaned on the table, coughing violently. He stood up, shaking with rage, and went to his gun case. He loaded all five fifty-shot drums for his Thompson, and all ten twenty-shot magazines for his AR. He loaded his 1911, cocked it, and loaded the five extra clips; then he loaded his .45 Colt, and readied ten speedloaders. He fastened his katana to his waist, then donned his white gloves, sunglasses, and duster. Into the pockets of his jacket he tucked a sports bottle and a box of matches. He lit the twenty-one votive candles in front of the crucifix, and prayed. He hung his medals around his neck-the Miraculous Medal of the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. Michael, the Brown Scapular, and a crucifix. The hopped on his motorcycle and sped off through the orange groves.

He parked in the Springfield Mall, and walked in. No one gave him more than a second glance. _It's Springfield, after all, and the town is used to lunacy_. _For all they know I'm some nerd dressed like a movie or anime character_. He walked into the video store. He strolled over to the adult section, and stared at the videos. _Fetish…lesbian…orgy…racial…Hentai…"Oni-Tensi"…that one has lesbians…"Bible Black"…that has everything! And they're all instruments of Satan to corrupt mankind._ He took his rifle from his shoulder, and knocked the videos to the floor with it. A few of the men milling around the adult section stared at him. The manager came over, yelling at him. Brian shot him in the knee, and he fell. The customers fled. Brian stood over the man, and put the muzzle of his rifle to his head.

"You provide men with soul poison. You deserve to die."

The man looked up at him, crying.

"Please…my kids…."

"I'll pray for them."

He fired into the man's head. He proceed to stomp and shoot each video in the adult section. No DVD or cassette was left whole. He was especially destructive to the hentai features, shouting curses upon the Japanese as he stomped them and emptied clips into cases of _Angel Blade _and _Cool Devices_. Then, the took the sports bottle from his pocket, poured the contents over the ruined films, lit a match, and dropped it. The videos went up in flames, the burning kerosene melting the plastic discs to their cases. Brian reloaded his rifle and walked out. The mall was largely empty, so few people were even remotely aware of what had just happened. He walked down the hall to Cockamanie's. He shouldered his rifle and set his hand on his revolver. John, the man behind the counter, smiled upon seeing him.

"Hey, professor."

Brian smiled. He'd frequented the store often, enjoying the rare memorabilia and knick-knacks it had to offer. He smiled.

"Hello, John."

Her drew his pistol and pointed it at the man's face. He cocked back the hammer.

"I'm sorry, John. _He who lies with a man as a woman shall be killed._"

He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. He heard the thud of John's body as it collapsed on the display case, then listened as it slid down to the floor. He turned and walked out the door.

The police had arrived at the school. Chief Wiggum and Mayor Skinner stood behind a barricade of police vehicles, giving orders over their walkie-talkies.

"Repeat, headshots only," Wiggum ordered in his nasal whine. Skinner nodded, then looked through his binoculars. Several ghouls were milling about by the window in a second-story classroom. The glass shattered, and one of the ghouls fell. Two more dropped, and soon, no ghouls were visible. Skinner looked at the line of snipers positioned behind a nearby barricade-Seamus, Francesca, Uter, and Gino, and gave them the thumbs up. He scanned the school with his binoculars, taking in the damage and the chaos.

Wiggum's radio buzzed with static.

"Chief, this is Lou with Bravo team. We are breaking down the fence and we're gonna clear out the playground."

"Alright Lou, when I give the signal, Ed will move in from the entrance side, and we'll cut these diseased bastards in half. The old divide n' conquer. One the count of one, two-" he paused, took a sip of coffee, removed the lid from the Styrofoam cup, reached into his patrol car for a donut, dunked it in the coffee, and took a bite. Skinner rolled his eyes in disbelief as Wiggum continued to eat the donut, then washed it down with another sip of coffee. "And….thr-"

Lou and Ed both began yelling over the radio.

"Hold your fire!"

"Stand down! There's a civy!"

"Boys, hey, what's goin' on out there?"

"Chief, we got a lone civilian in the playground."

"What?" Skinner gasped, moving in closer to the radio.

"He's wearing…is that a trench coat Lou?"

"Nah, trench coats have belts, Ed. This is more of…what d'you call 'em? _Matrix _jackets?"

Skinner pursed his lips.

"Whatever he's wearin', he's got a pistol and some sort of ninja sword. And he's working a fair number on these guys."

Brian hacked the head off of another ghoul. He let out a warbling ululation, shrieking up to the sky in mad rage.

"Death to the freaks! Die! Die! Everyone is evil! Die!"

He pointed his .45 at a ghoul, a young girl with short hair.

"Short hair! A freak! Dark clothes! A Goth! A headscarf! A filthy Muslim! Die! Die! Die!!!"

Skinner rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

"Well Chief," Lou said, "What should we do? We can take him out from here."

Wiggum snorted and nodded.

"Yeah, I say yah let him have it, boys."

Seymour snatched the microphone from the chief's hands.

"Don't shoot! Halt! This is Mayor Skinner! No one shoots him!"

"Hey, hey! Come on! I was gonna shoot a guy…indirectly…aw, come on!"

"Clancy, please, I know that man," he replied, handing the walkie-talkie back to him. "Don't kill him."

Brian sliced the top off of a ghoul's head. He screamed in pain and anger, tears rolling down his face, and started shouting Pink Floyd lyrics at the top of his lungs.

"_Eins! Zweisse! Dreis! Alle!_

_Waiting!_

_To cut out the dead wood!_

_Waiting!_

_To clean up this city!_

_To put on a black shirt!_

_Waiting!_

_To weed out the weaklings!_

_To smash in their windows and kick in their doors!_

_For the final solution to strengthen the strain!_

_Waiting, to follow the worms!_

_Waiting!_

_To turn on the showers and fire the ovens!_

_Waiting!_

_All the queens and the coons and the reds and the Jews!_

_Waiting! To follow the worms!_"

He cried and brought his sword back over his head, then brought it down. The preternaturally sharp blade cut a ghoul in half from the head to the groin. He sliced another ghoul in half at the waist, shouting.

"DEATH!!! DEATH TO ALL!!! DEATH IS ALL THERE IS!!!"

"So, Spanky," Wiggum breathed, "What should we do?"

Skinner sighed and rubbed his temple, sweating.

"Have Lou's team head in through the gym entrance…fight their way through the corridors and then help Ed's group clear out the second story and the basement."

Wiggum sneered, then sighed, shaking his head.

"Alright Seymour. Lou, let that loony toon take care of the playground. Enter through the gym and help Alpha team clear the buildings. Over."

There was a pause, then a burst of static, and Lou answered.

"Roger that, Chief."

Brian walked through the playground, alone, save for the dead. All ghouls were dead, save for a few poor, mutilated ones crawling on their hands across the blacktop. He finished them with his revolver, singing "Ta mo Chleamhnas Deanta". He walked over to the swings and sat down, listening to the sirens and gunfire. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and saw Yumiko standing behind him.

"Sister!"

He hugged her around the waist, sobbing. She wrapped her arms around his head, and stroked his hair.

"We are all abandoned here, for God's sake."

He continued to sob, rubbing his tears into her dress. She pulled him up and helped him to his feet.

"Lisa is worried about you. She heard that you were out here, and feared you'd been hurt, Brian."

Brian shook his head.

"No one can hurt me. I've hurt my mind, my body, my heart, and my soul more than any man or monster can."

She lead him out of the grim and silent school yard.

Part II: The First Cut, the Deepest

"_When it comes to being lucky, she's cursed._

_When it comes to loving me she's worst._

_But when it comes to being loved she is first._

_That's how I know…_

_The first cut is the deepest, baby I know,_

_The first cut is the deepest, baby I know…"_

Bart stood outside, smoking his cigarette and trying to hide his tears. Cat Steven's passionate singing and poetic lyrics spoke to him. He imagined himself singing the song to Gina-in fact, that's why he picked the song out. _The sad part is my 'first cut' is sitting in that studio there, and is now the living dead._ He threw the cigarette to the ground and ground it into the blacktop with the toe of his snakeskin boots. He stared at the distant sun, hanging wearily over the sea, as if contemplating its own demise. He wiped the tears from his face and walked back in. Jessica looked at him sadly as he sat down. He flashed her a weak smile, then turned on his mic.

"Okay, we've got to go to make room for Alice Cooper, so to wrap it up we have…'Boys Don't Cry'."

He turned off the microphone, shook his head and slapped his forehead.

"Man, why'd you have to play every song on my 'Depressed' playlist?"

"Sorry, Bart."

He smiled tiredly and shook his head. He began to gather his things.

"Meeting again tonight?"

"Yeah, especially since what happened at the school. Town meeting in half an hour, followed by an Order meeting."

Jessica nodded. Bart had just slung his backpack over his shoulder and begun for the door when he got a call.

"Bart."

"Bart, this is Fr. Sean. Get out of town now! The dead have risen and have taken to the streets!"

"What," he asked in disbelief. Jessica, her sensitive ears having picked up the conversation, stood up quickly and set her hand on Bart's shoulder.

"We're all heading over to Brian's house. It's from town, and is surrounded by a high wall. Skinner and the police are doing their best to get everyone on the road, but the airport was shut down after a ghoul entered the cabin of a jet on the runway and caused it to crash into about seven other planes."

They rushed out into the parking lot and got into their cars. Jessica followed Bart out into the parking lot. They hopped in Bart's car and sped out of the parking lot.

The ghoul crumpled over and disintegrated. Heinkel reloaded her pistols, and looked around. The ghouls were pressing against the barricade of shattered furniture and automobiles. Brian, Uter, Yumie, and a few civilians with rifles and pistols were doing their best to beat back the swelling horde, but the barricade was weakening, and individual ghouls kept climbing over.

"Are all the apartments clear?" Heinkel asked through the shouting and gunfire. Brian watched as the last few cars left.

"All clear!"

Heinkel fired a few more shots at the ghouls climbing over the barricade, and they raced back to Uter's car.

Rabbi Krustofski limped around his office, leaning on his cane and muttering prayers. He had heard the radio reports. _Bands of men are attacking and eating people?_ _Dead people are coming to life and killing the living? God, so it all ends now._ He looked out the tinted windows of his office and saw the flickering light of several small rubbish fires in the street.

"So it all ends now."

He heard the synagogue doors open, and exhaled sharply. _This is it._

"Rabbi!"

"Dad!"

He tilted his head, confused. He hobbled out of his office, and saw Dolph, Jimbo, Sideshow Mel, and his son, Krusty, walking in the doorway. Krusty and Dolph stopped, and picked up yarmulkes from the small box by the door, each putting one on.

"Pops, we gotta leave."

Rabbi Krustofski looked at his son, and set his hand on his shoulder.

"Son, for nearly fifty years I've been at this synagogue. I've been here with my people, serving Our Lord. If this is the end of all things, I'll be happy to die in His house."

"Rabbi, this isn't the end, but it will be the death for us all if we do not rise up against this foul malignancy," Mel said.

A distant explosion rattled the windows in their panes.

"Dad…," Krusty asked pleadingly. His elderly father sighed. He nodded, and limped over to the back of the synagogue. He took the Torah from its case and carried it down the aisle. Krusty helped him into his car. Mel went along with them to help Krusty find the way out to Brian's house.

Uter's Mercedez roared down the cluttered streets, swerving to miss the occasional ghoul or straggling civilian. Heinkel called Skinner's office on her wireless.

In downtown Sprinfield, where the ghouls had completely overrun the town's human inhabitants, Skinner, Willie, Seamus, Kearney, the Wiggums, Ed, Lou, and Edna fought to defend City Hall from the surrounding sea of Undead. The eight survivors had constructed a barricade of overturned desks it the lobby, firing from behind the blockade at the advancing ghouls.

Skinner heard the phone ringing in a lull in the gunfire, and answered the call.

"Yeah?"

"Herr burgermeister?"

"Heinkel!"

"Ve've completed our search. The freeway became a massacre after un eighteen-wheeler flipped over und ze ghouls began ripping people out of zeir vehicles. Ve've instructed all the survivors to head out to Callahan's house."

"Good. Head out the ranch and wait for us. We'll join you as soon as we can get out of this mess. Over and out."

He threw the receiver aside. He shouted over the gunfire.

"All right, fall back to the office!"

They raced back down the rubbage-strewn hallways to what had been Skinner's office. Skinner opened his closet and pulled out several Soviet-made RPG-7 rocket launchers. His wife studied one purplexedly.

"Captured them back in 'Nam. They were intended for anti-materiel use, but in a pinch, they're pretty good at thinning out mobs of ghouls."

A rock smashed through the window. Several ghouls' hands began to force their way through the hole in the glass, unconcerned with the shards of broken glass shredding their graying skin.

"Hurry!"

They raced down the corridor to the parking lot. They were within sight of the back doors when several young men stepped in front of them-all of them wearing white jumpsuits and bowler hats.

"Ello-ello, chaps. Where might you lot be headed at this time of nighty-noo?"

One of the Undead droogs was carrying the limp figure of an old homeless man. The vampire gnawed and sucked at the dying man's throat, dark blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. His eyes widened; he spat a mouthful of blood on the wall threw the man against the wall, his head cracking open like a rotten cantaloupe.

"Phaw! 'E was HIV-positive, 'e was!"

"Wha'd'you fuckerin' care, s'not like you'll get it," one of his fellows scolded.

"Still, it tastes fuckin' aweful!"

"Right then, O my brothers," the lead droog announced, "Then let us do a simultaneous squash of our hunger and our need for the ol' ultraviolence by doing a number on these air-breathers!"

"Capital!"

"Jolly good."

Edna snarled and fired her M-16, emptying a full clip into the vampire who'd killed the old hobo. The vampire shrieked and staggered backwards, the 5.56mm bullets having torn apart his ribcage and abdomen, spilling his necrotic organs to the floor. His blood darkened and turned a sickly black-brown as it ran onto the white linoleum. The colour drained from his face, already pale, and he collapsed. The blood dried into a dark powder, and his body slowly crumbled into pale ash. The other vampires looked at Edna and snarled, their eyes luminous in the middle of their contorting faces. Edna dropped the spent magazine to the floor and loaded a fresh one into her rifle. _They destroyed my school, my home…they killed my son…_

"Come and get some you sonnafobitch!"

The vampires sped towards them, leaping the full distance between them. The Hunters fired their weapons as the Undead sailed through the air. A few were caught in the heart and face and fell, while the others continued to fly at them. Skinner took a boot to the chest and was through backwards, heels-over-head, his rifle still firing. Lou was tackled to the floor, and both Clancy and Ralph Wiggum shot one another as a vampire dashed between them and tackled Kearney to the floor. Lou was pinned up against the wall, and Willie and Seamus caught both their attackers on their bayonets. The lead droog attacked Edna, striking her upside the head with his cane. Ed was knocked unconscious-hit in the temple by a chain swung by one of the droogies. He grabbed her by the throat, and leaned his head to her neck.

Several deafening blasts echoed down the hall. The lead droogie's chest exploded in dozens of enormous red wounds. He released his hold of Edna and staggered into the wall, sliding down it and leaving a bloody smear. A high-heeled boot shot through the air with the force of a cannonball, its stiletto heal piercing the back of a vampire's head before it sent him somersaulting through the air. The droogie wrestling with Kearney crumbled into ash as a broadsword pierced it's heart. Lou watched as the head of the vampire pinning him to the wall slid off its neck.

Skinner sat up, rubbing his aching head. He saw the Bart and Gina standing over him, and behind them, Jessica, lurking in the shadows.

"Need a hand, Spanky?"

"About time you kids got here."


	30. Battle of the Groves

Skinner listened to the crackling voice over the HAM radio.

"...maintain your current position. Repeat, maintain your current position. The governor has ordered the mobilization of the National Guard. They should be there within 08:00 hours. Over"

Skinner narrowed his eyes and nodded.

"Understood. Thank you Miss Wolfcastle. This is Sgt. Seymour Skinner, over and out."

He set the receiver down and turned to the table behind him. There sat Chief Wiggum, Fr. Sean, his wife Edna, Kearney, Cpl. Fergus, and Doctor Hibbert.

"At best we have eight hours until rescue, maybe even more. I'm doubtful that our National Guardsmen will be able to handle a veritable army of ghouls and vampires. Even if they were able to, the aforementioned ghouls will have probably devoured us by that time. Our only hope lies in lasting the night by ourselves. Wiggum-"

"'Chief', I'm still the chief of police, Seymour!"

"_Chief_ Wiggum…"

"Oh, me?"

Seymour sighed, unable to discern whether Wiggum was being facetious or simply stupid, but knowing that it was most likely stupid.

"I want you to gather all the men and women with shooting experience and equip them with whatever weaponry is available. Corporal?"

Corporal Fergus rose to his feet and clicked his heels.

"Corporal, I need your men to gather anyone with a strong back and have them aid your troops in fortifying this ranch. We need all the ground-floor windows duct-taped, the shutters closed and boarded shut, a trench dug about thirty meters from the wall, and three sets of barricades set in front of the house. Can you do it?"

"I'll see to it, sir," he replied with a sharp nod.

Alright…Father, Julius, have all the refugees move as far from the outer wall and as close to the cliffs as possible, but bring all the injured and sick inside the house. Julius, you and Nick take care of them."

Skinner looked around the room, at the six people sitting in front of him, and then out the window, at the burning city in the distance.

"Alright, get to it."

Gina stood on the walkway of Brian's garden wall, looking out over the groves of trees at the orange glow in the distance. Thick, grey smoke rose from the city in an immense and singular column, blown eastward by the nightly sea breeze. The smoke merged with the thick, sooty clouds overhead, glowing an eerie purple from the burning city-the earth and sky were purple, black, grey, and October orange. Gina felt as though it were Halloween, as _real _Halloween, a Halloween devoid of the innocent, infantile glee and giddy consumerism, existing purely as night and terror and a persistent, nebulous dread.

Bart climbed the ladder behind here and hoisted himself onto the wooden walkway. He took his M-16 off his shoulder, and set a hand on Gina's. She turned and sighed.

"I bet my apartment's gone now."

"Mine too, probably…," Bart said, trying to be comforting. Something flashed through his mind, "Aw, shit, my records!" He rushed forward, dropping his gun and gripping the wall. "You bastards! You know how hard those were to find on e-bay?!"

Gina laughed and crossed her arms. She sighed and said, "Bart, I think we'll have more worries than some lost Zep albums when the freaks show up."

Bart sighed and took out his cigarettes and lighter.

"Yeah…you want one?"

She shrugged.

"Why not? My life expectancy is about as low as it can get anyway."

Bart took out two cigarettes. Gina snatched both from him, along with his lighter. She lit both in her mouth, then passed one to Bart. She took a long draw, exhaled the smoke through her nostrils, and licked her red lips. Bart repressed an excited shudder at the faint bat-squeak of sexuality released by the passing of cigarette from her mouth to his.

Brian watched them from his second-floor study. _Badai na Scadan_ was playing on his stereo system, powered by his house's reserve power from its solar panels. He looked at his shelves of books, and sighed.

_So many books…so few that I bring._

He picked them carefully. Augustine, Aquinas, Eusebius, Lactantius, Chesterton, Belloc, Trifkovic. _The Life and Religion of Mohammed…Salvation is from the Jews…Architects of the Culture of Death…An Exorcist Tells His Story…The Deciever…Pope Fiction…The Holy Bible, Douay-Rheims Edition…The Holy Bible, New American Translation, Catholic Edition…_He smiled as he found one of his favorite novels. _Dune…I have to take this one…This classic edition of the Silmarillion…oh, and this version of The Lord of the Rings is valuable…_He paused over his fiction section. _I can find Dorian Grey anywhere…but this Romantic Poetry collection will be a good one to take. _

He looked at his trunk. It was already near-filled with trinkets and documents-his birth certificate, baptism certificate, a ratty stuffed mammoth-his favorite childhood stuffed animal, confirmation certificate, diplomas, doctorate, his assorted theses and essays, and random clippings from newspapers, magazines, and academic journals-along with the small portion of his father's collection of guns and knives that he decided to take. _.32 Special…they hardly make those anymore….300 Savage…man, that was a fun one once dad got the bolt fixed on it…that double-barrel Beretta he won at that raffle…the other double-barrel his AIDs-dementia-suffering client bought into the office…on the day president Reagan was in the same office complex, no less!...poor guy is lucky he didn't get arrested…his old Super Six…my old .22 rifle…_

Brian drifted into his memories. He remembered practicing shooting cans and bottles with his father, out in the same orchard that was now aglow with the flickering light of a burning city. He remembered the fairs, the trips to the park, the countless Christmases, Easters, Fourths of July, and birthdays. He sat on the edge of his bed, looking at the small trunk now packed with the fragments of his life, and held his hand to his mouth, stifling a sob none would have heard. He cried into his hands, silently, until his grief had grown so great as to be beyond even tears. He wiped his hands on his bed, and dried his face with a tissue. He closed the chest, locked it, and hauled it down the stairs. Lisa was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

"Brian," she said softly. She knew him well enough to know that it would have been wasteful to ask "Are you alright"-the answer, try as he might to hide it-was apparent in his eyes.

He looked at her, his impassive face masking the pain, the vast and terrible void in his heart that he felt would soon grow powerful enough to crush his very ribs. He stood silent for an agonizing second, then let go of the trunk and threw his arms around her, sobbing like a child into the soft wool of her sweater. She held him tight, small, biting back tears falling from her eyes.

Jessica watched them from the shadows. She felt oddly removed, untouched by the display of tenderness and longing, and was disgusted by her lack of emotion. _Have I lost my soul? Why can't I feel for this? I've cried for less in movies, why not now?_

Seras awkwardly intruded upon the Brian and Lisa's quiet exhange.

"I can put that with my coffin on the heli, if you want."

Brian reacted slowly, turning around in Lisa's arms and looking over his shoulder at her. Lisa, her eyes still closed and streaming tears, nodded. Seras picked the trunk up over head, and vanished.

"Come on Brian, let's get some tea."

"Alright…Lisa, you have your saxophone, right?"

"Yeah. Why? You want me to play?"

"I want _us_ to play. For the others. It'd help them."

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Sure, Bri."

Jessica sulked in the corner, looking at the dusty ground. She leaned against the wall, and slid down to the floor. She drew her knees to her chest and sighed. She closed her eyes, not tired, but weary. The constant stream of sights, sounds, and the millions of scents bombarding her from every direction, slowed, and ceased.

She was an infant, being held to her mother's breast. She was so small, but warm and safe in her mother's arms. Warm, nourish milk trickled into her mouth. She bit down upon the soft breast.

"Ow! Not so hard, dear!"

She grinned and bit harder. She grasped the sides of the breast with her hands, digging her claws into it. Hot, salty blood gushed into her mouth. She snarled and tore at the soft flesh with her fangs.

"Jessica!"

She sat up. Seras was crouching next to her, holding her immense rifle.

"Alright?"

Jessica closed her eyes and nodded.

"They're at the walls."

A mob of ghouls was pressing against the walls and the gate surround Brian's estate. They clawed at the walls, leaving their fingernails embedded in the bricks, and wearing the flesh from their fingers until their bones scraped at the wall. The Hellsing soldiers, Hunters, and an assortment of volunteers climbed on the wooden walkway built behind the wall and looked down at the writhing mass of rotting flesh.

"Let's save our ammo for the real trouble," Skinner yelled. "Willie!"

"Aye, sir," he answered from the bottom of the wall.

"Willie, get the tractor loaded with bricks and rocks, get some refugees to help. Bring it around here. We'll brain these troublemaking corpses."

"Aye-aye, sir!"

Seymour's strategy worked brilliantly. The ghouls rushed to the walls, eager for living flesh, pressed close against the wall, packed as tightly as canned sardines. The soldiers and refugees needed only to heft up a weighty stone and drop it down from the three meter high wall to crush the zombies' rotting skulls and leave them nothing but ashes. Skinner set up a chain of men up the stairs to the walkway behind the wall, tossing stones to each other and singing cheerfully. Despite being bathed in the glow of their burning homes and surrounded with flesh-eating ghouls, the men laughed and joked, feeling that victory would be as easy as passing a ten kilo rock to another man.

Skinner patrolled the walls, patting the soldiers and his fellow Springfielders on the shoulder and shouting words of encouragement. He was in his element, his natural habitat-a situation of mortal peril, with the lives of hundreds resting in his hands, and the fate of them all resting on his decisions.

He leaned in next to Seamus, who was staring intently through his rifle's scope.

"Keep your eye peeled, Seamus. This can't be all the world's oldest vampire has in store for us."

The Irishman nodded and moved the stub of cigar in his teeth to the corner of his mouth.

"Here they are sir. Vampires."

Skinner raised a fist over his head. The brigade of rock-passers dropped their burdens and seized their rifles as they clambored for a position on the wall. Skinner raised his M-16 and peered down the night scope. _Oh, I see you, blood-suckers._ Vampires, in small groups ranging from three to about twelve were running through the rows of orange trees, racing fast as unbridled horses.

"Hold until they're well-within range, boys," whispered one of the Hellsing troops. Skinner flicked the selector on his rifle to "Fire", and nodded. _With the mix of rifles and ammo and loadings, our maximum range has to be the lowest common denominator. This means that we may have to let the vampires a lot closer than we'd like…_

The vampires entered Seymour's field of vision, a scattering of dull-grey silhouettes against the sky's dim orange luminescence.

"Hold your fire men…hold it…!"

The vampires drew nearer, snarling and shrieking as they spied their intended prey. They were a mere five rows of trees and few meters of bare earth from the wall. Skinner took aim at the freak furthest to the left, carefully zeroing in on its left breast. The vampires were clear of the trees, their gleaming red eyes now visible through the gloom.

"Fire!"

Skinner fired, and the 5.56mm bullet from his rifle struck his target dead-on in the breast, exploding out its back is a shower of shattered rib and gore. The wall resounded with gunfire. Shotgun, rifle, semiautomatic, and machine gun unleashed their fiery discharge. The vampires shrieked and bellowed as their bodies were rent by the wave of lead, copper, steel, and silver that broke upon them.

The Master watched from a distant skyscraper, the sharp, ash-laden winds bringing no sensation to his pale, leathery skin. He twiddled his clawed thumbs, the yellowed talons clicking like the mandibles bizarre abyssal creatures.

"They are impressive men. Brave and selfless. Such is there folly."

He turned to Camilla, who stood by his side, clasping the _Necronomicon_.

"Selflessness…sacrifice…self-deprivation…restraint…all are the lies of the enemy, he the Father Below rebelled against in the name of justice and liberty. Such is not the fulfillment of the human spirit, but the stifling of it. Man only achieves his true nature through rebellion against the perverse and repressive rule of reason. The history of their specie, and yea, my specie as well, is not the history of sinful creatures trying to return to union with their creator, but a race of beasts that could become as _gods_, and at times come so agonizingly close, only to turn away, too unwillingly to sacrifice security for freedom, dependence and their cruel, sickly, smothering travesty of existence for the grandeur of self-determination."

He looked back at the battle being waged on the horizon.

"Our kind are sad substitutes, Camilla."

She jerked her head, amazed and confused by his remark. _Did he, the father of all the Undead, the first vampire, just call us…?_

"…Inferior. We are the inferior prototypes, my child. For the true overman, the _Übermensch_, the _homo superior_…the last and ultimate realization of human potential…is not a sickly living corpse, dependent upon living things. Indeed, while free from the tyranny of time, of disease and death, we are still slaves to life, and through it, to the enemy, that sticky, suffocating, impotent miasma that permeates all things and seeks to rob it of vitality so as to maintain its own supremacy. The true conclusion of man's liberation is his acquisition of immortality through his shear will. His power will not be from a demon inhabiting his body, for his body will be inhabited by a spirit as gloriously free and powerful as any angel of Hell. He will not need spells or the power of other spirits, for his own heart will be as their own, and free from any need for guidance by them. Neither demon nor mortal man…but the fullrealization of our Master's liberation. The _Versuschristus_."

In Brian's back garden, the refugees wailed and whimpered at the deafening mix of screams and explosions emanating from the front yard. Cries of "They're coming for us!" and "We're done for!" increased the toxic panic spreading through the tattered mob.

The sharp crack of a magnum handgun brought silence to the crowd. Bart lowered his revolver and replaced the spent cartridge with a fresh round.

"Shut the hell up!"

Brian stepped forward, Lisa at his side. He cleared his throat with a load hack, then yelled:

"Everyone, listen! Anyone who's strong enough to use a weapon, even if its just throwing heavy rocks or swinging a crowbar, we need you up front. The rest of you…there's a small sandbar about a mile offshore, straight out from the beach. I have a raft, but its only big enough for about six people. So, we need to strong people to row it, and they'll go back and forth with four people onboard-only the women, children, crippled, sick, and elderly at this point. Any volunteer rowers?"

After a shamefully quiet minute, two fairly fit men stepped forward.

"Great! Okay, women, children, elderly, and invalids, line up, alphabetically by last name. Mothers, stay with your children twelve and younger, same goes for the caretakers of invalids and seniors. Now, the raft is down on the beach, down that metal staircase there. I want you all to do this orderly and quickly, and we just might all make it out of this!"

Willie ran up to Brian and Lisa.

"Brian! The vampires just keep comin! Skinner wants the snipers up in the top story o't'house to help hold th'line!"

Brian nodded.

"Right, so that's Seamus, me, Francesca, and…just those three?"

"An' Herman, aye. Git goin'," he replied, waving his shotgun at the house.

Brian patted Lisa on the shoulder and ran off.

Jessica could see the vampire's face with dreadful clarity. Muscle, skin, and sinews, pulled into a grimace more reminiscent of a Greek passion mask than a human countenance. She pulled the trigger. She neither heard the shot nor felt the recoil of the immense 12.6mm rifle. She flew behind the spinning bullet, arching down from the window, over the wall, through a gap in an orange tree, and following a gentle, invisible arch into the vampire's left breast. She saw its eyes bulge and lose their ethereal glow. The vampire stumbled forward, crumbling into dust before it hit the dark brown earth. As she felt her mind returning to her body, her body leaning out the attic window of Brian's house, she heart the faint tinkling of the .50 caliber shell clattering on the dusty wooden planks beneath her. She blinked. It had all been in the fraction of a second it took for the rifle's action to cycle.

_Good job. Keep firing, _Seras nudged with a psychic whisper.

To the men and woman in the floor below the firing above them sounded like the roar of two machine guns coupled with the occasional belching of cannon. Jessica and Seras would empty the ten shot magazines in their .50-caliber rifles in three seconds or , and could eject the spent clip, replace it with a full one, and fire another shot in under two. Whenever one or the other would spot a dense grouping of vampires, Seras would pick up her 30mm _Harkonen_ and obliterate the freaks with an incendiary round.

"Jay-sus! I's like the pits of Hell," Seamus hissed, his ears ringing from the incessant volley. He slowly zeroed in on a vampire that was racing towards the wall on all fours. He carefully adjusted the scope for the slight breeze, and aimed ahead to of the fiend to account for its speed. He began to slowly apply steady pressure to the trigger, until it gave its familiar jerk and blast. He kept moving the rifle, and watched as the left side of the vampire's skull exploded in bright green in his night scope.

On the wall, the soldiers and volunteers worked like madmen to maintain the constant fire. Four machine guns, two of them modern 7.62mm NATO guns brought by Hellsing, the other two antique WWII models owned by Herman, were kept firing as long and as often as their strained components could permit. While the Hellsing soldiers had brought a veritable glut of .308 calibre rounds for their machine guns, the other two guns presented munitions difficulties. One was a German MP-42, a powerful, accurate, and extremely rapid-firing model, and fired German 8mm rounds; the other was a British machinegun in the .303 British caliber of the WWII era. While both calibers found use in the States as hunting rounds and as ammunition for historic firearms displays, and while the refugees had indeed brought some of each kind with them, the rapid rate of fire of each gun, combined with the use of the same bullets by several of the rifles the volunteer troops were using and the seemingly endless stream of enemies made their supply of rounds horribly insufficient. Bart and Millhouse sat by each machinegun, collecting the spent brass before rushing it over to the small clandestine workshop Raphael (aka "Wiseguy") had set up on the lawn, where he frantically tried to reload the spent shells with primer, powder, and bullet before handing them to Fr. Sean, who, once saying an extremely succinct blessing, would then hand them to one of the runners, who then raced back to the wall as fast as their legs would allow. Vampires climbed up the wall with increasing frequency, and Bart had already spent a full clip of his precious, powerful .44 magnum rounds on freaks who had managed to slip through the storm of silver, lead, and flame with the intent of ending the constant barrage and allowing their unwholesome brethren to sweep in for the slaughter.

Moral was low and tenuous amongst the troops. A sense of constant, deepening, inescapable peril weighed upon them. They found themselves all at once struggling against the paralysis of terror and confronted by the gruesomeness of the spectacle around them that their adrenaline-heightened senses relayed. The mood of anxiety easily burst into panic, and did so whenever a vampire leapt onto the wall and tried to make slaughter of trembling mortals. Skinner, Willie, Heinkel, Bob, Yumie, and Akira did their best to slay the freaks before they could inflict any casualties, but the wall was long and crowded with weapons, munitions, and men alive, dead, and dying, and the vampires needed only a few seconds to kill a dozen men and cause dozens more to leave their posts at their rifles or machine guns to flee, fight, or fall upon the crowd below and lie trembling in hopeless terror. Skinner fought right amongst the troops, his M1911 in one hand and a machete with a rosary tied round the handle in his other.

"Hold the line! Don't give them an inch of wiggle room! Keep that fire on them!"

Two bat-eared vampires, the nigh-indestructible, unsacred spawn of the magic of the mad Arab Abdul Alzhared's infernal tome, leapt from the trees and landed on the wall, their malformed feet clinging to the rough stones, and roared with demoniac fury. One foolish soul, a Springfielder and father, came forth with an antique shotgun leveled with the nearest monster's chest. The troglodyte swung one of its ape-like limbs, and raked the man across the throat. Dark blood sprayed onto the stones. Skinner charged at the two devils, firing his pistol. He struck both in the heart, the .45 Auto +P+ rounds barely managing to breach the creatures' strange, chitinous chest plates. Skinner focused his fire on the nearest creature. He fired six of his pistol's eight shots into its chest, and raised his machete high. He swung with all his aging body's strength, managing to sever the creature's spinal column and major blood vessels. He fired the last remaining shot in his pistol at its severed head, the shot striking slightly below and to the right of the fiend's left temple. The bullet ricocheted within the thing's skull before exploding out the back in a shower of pink, red, and grey. The creature's body burst into flames and was consumed almost instantatneously.

The second creature struck Skinner in the face. Skinner felt a sharp pain and heard a crack. Blood spurted from his nose. Then came another blow, to his ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs. With an animal surge of strength, Skinner raised his machete and swung, striking the creature's arm as it swung to deliver a finishing blow. The combined force of their blows completely severed the creature's arm at the elbow. Skinner lunged forward with his swing, twisted his body around and stabbed the thing in the back. He put all his force behind the aged steel, hoping that the creature's chest plate would give before his blade did. The being's strange armor, the sickly yellow-white of leprous skin, cracked and gave way, and Skinner drove his machete through till it his the carapace's other side. The creature bleated shrilly and turned around, trying its best to preserve its blasphemous un-life. It struck Skinner's face, knocking onto his back, then, grabbing him by his ankles, it swung him to the right, slamming him into the top of the wall.

Coughing blood, Skinner groped about for a weapon. He could see the blurred, swaying form of his attacker over him, and heard a strange, warbling cacophony emnate from its maw that bore the vaguest recognizable similarities to human laughter. Skinner's hand met the double-barreled shotgun of the man the creature had previously slain. He summoned his strength, screaming in pain and fury as he felt his muscular contractions contorting his broken ribs. He seized the gun and fired it at the creature's neck, severing its head. He strained to sit up, and say through his squinting, watery vision the creature's head lying on the platform near his discarded pistol, its face bearing a look of unmistakable surprise and malice. He fired again, his eyes closing before the spray of shot struck its target, but hearing the sound of crumbling and flame that heralded the vampire's disintegration. Dark overtook him.

Jessica popped a fresh clip into her fifty-caliber and scanned the groves. The vampires and ghouls stood out like bright dots on a display screen, the vampires brighter and faster moving than the more numerous ghouls. She emptied the magazine and loaded another, all twenty shots spent in a second, all twenty instant kills. She began firing again, and had spent nearly half of her shots when something neither living nor Undead came entered her unnaturally-enhanced vision. _A tank…_

"Holy fucking shit…A tank!"

A psychic signal from Seras, sent, understood, and acknowledged faster than Seras could have spoken the words, was relayed to her. _"Get the humans out of the house!"_ Shouldering her rifle and chucking the boxes of magazines and ammo out the window, Jessica grabbed Seamus and Francesca while Seras picked up Brian and Herman, somehow fitting both men under one arm and her massive rifle under the other. Jessica heard, miles away and through the fire of thousands of guns and shrill death-shrieks, a metal hatch close and lock. Both vampires leapt from the attic windows. As they landed on the lawn, their Undead frames someone absorbing the kinetic energy of their fall and protecting their living comrades, a shell struck the attic of Brian's house. Seras watched it unfold as if it were taking place in thick jelly, the shell slowly ingniting and exploding, the attic crumbling, bursting into flames and disintegrating. Brian fought his way out of Seras' grip and screamed. He held his hands on the sides of his head and fell to his knees, crying out in anguish and loss.

"My house! My house! God! _God!_"

At the beach in back, Lisa watched as the house burst into flames.

"Brian!"

Marge grabbed her daughter and shook her.

"He's okay, just keep going."

Lisa stared off at the steel-grey sea, eyes glazing over. Marge slapped her daughter with a moderate amount of force, bringing her out of her grief-induced delirium.

"Lisa! Look at me! Look at me! He's alive. I'm sure he got out, and is still fighting. We need to get these people out of here, so focus. You're doing great honey, but we're not done yet!"

Lisa nodded, blinking through tears.

"Okay mom. Alright, next six people! Let's keep it going! Anyone who can fight, we need you at the front lines!"

Carrie and Patty looked at one another. Both decided to leave the line. Selma looked down at Ling and sad, her voice cracking, "Honey…you stay here."

"Mom, no!"

"Someone else needs that spot on the raft more than me. Honey…I'm old. I'm in my fifties. There are kids here young as you held back by me having a last name starting with a 'B'. They should get to live."

Ling whimpered and threw her arms around her adopted mother's neck.

"Okay, keep calm people! Stay in line!" Patty shouted.

"Small children

The men scrambled from the wall like rats fleeing a sinking ship. A second shot was fired, and second of the wall exploded into powdered stone, men and bits of men and shrapnel flying in all directions.

"Uter, catch!" Bart yelled, and he heaved the remaining thirty-caliber machine gun to his friend on the ground below. Uter caught the twenty-pound weapon, and then the additional twenty pounds of linked ammo, then, carrying both, his muscles shaking with the effort, sprinted to the trench where the men of Hellsing and Springfield were preparing to take their last stand. Bart ran to the ladder, preparing to climb down and join them. He stepped on something hard and nearly slipped. He saw that it was Skinner's pistol. Skinner lay near the edge of the wall, still unconscious. Bart tucked the gun into his belt, then slowly struggled to lift up Skinner's body. His ears rang painfully as another tank shell exploded, mercifully falling short of the wall and incinerating several Undead. Bart finally got Skinner onto his shoulders, and then struggled to his feet. He head gunshots behind him, and felt bullets graze his arms and sides. He leapt down from the wall, hitting the ground hard and dropping Skinner.

Dizzy, bleeding from several unacknowledged gunshot wounds, Bart crawled forwards. He grabbed Skinner's collar, and then, using his rifle to steady himself, stood. He forced himself forward, ever forward, dragging Skinner behind himself. The trench seemed as distant as the moon, and though what felt like years and thousands of painful steps went by, he seemed to grow no neared. Suddenly, he saw dark, brown dirt racing towards his face, and felt warm, living hands helping him up. He saw Willy picking up Skinner out of the trench, and felt water on his face. Gina was helping him to his feet and putting his rifle back in his hands. He looked back at the wall, and saw that a large gap had been blasted open, and ghouls and vampires were now surging through. He pointed his rifle and fired, not even aiming, but watching as his bullets tore into the slumping, wailing horde. Individual vampires climbed over the walls at different points, trying to divert the survivor's fire.

"Keep the fire focused!" Fr. Sean said, holding his crucifix by his torch and using the reflected light to stun and repel the vampires. The troops focused their fire back on the ghouls, and soon had slaughtered everyone within range of the gap in the wall. They then set to picking off the vampires within the walls, and had finished them by the time the first ghoul had taken a step within the walls.

Another shot rang out above the others, and the ancient iron gates leading into the yard were rent asunder. More ghouls poured in, and the men found themselves now alternating between each oncoming stream of zombies.

Seras nudged Father Sean.

"Vicar…I think I can take the tank out. Just keep your…your cross away until I'm back behind you."

"What about the vampires? We can hardly keep the ghouls back as it is!"

"I'll keep the yard clear," spoke Jessica, "Just you boys worry about the ghouls."

Fr. Sean nodded, and Jessica thought she detected an appreciative smile from Bart. Heinkel grimaced as he fired a burst at the mob of ghouls.

"Ve aren't all girls here," she grumbled to Gina and Yumie.

Seras raced across the yard, with Jessica behind her. To the humans watching them, they were nothing more than two dark streaks buzzing about the yard. They watched in horrified awe as the vampires within the yard literally exploded into gore and offal before crumbling into nonexistence. Once the yard was free of Midians, Seras and Jessica zoomed onto the wall, flying so fast that they not only saw the defenders' bullets, they _passed_ them. Jessica whizzed back and forth along the ruined wall, her claws and bullets slaughtering any vampire that tried to slip through. Seras loaded an incendiary round into her _Harkonen_ and took aim. Her vision floated forward, through the trees and down the barrel of the tank's massive cannon. She watched as the chamber was opened, her finger beginning to apply light pressure to the trigger. Jessica decapitated a vampire to her right as it made a desperate attempt to jump over the wall. Seras' vision focused. She saw through the tank's plating, and saw the new warhead being brought into the chamber. _High-Explosive Anti-Personel_, she thought, recognizing the type of shell, _perfect. _She fired, calculating her trajectory and following her gun's projectile with her eyes. Her incendiary shell flew through the air and straight down the barrel of the tank's main turret. The vampire inside pushed the new round into the chamber. He reached for the door. The two explosive rounds collided. Seras switched to human-range vision. The tank exploded, the top hatch flying open and belching flame. Smoke billowed out of the barrel and the edges of the turret. The tank had been destroyed.

"I did it!," she squeeled with childish satisfaction. She looked for Jessica, but saw only a dark, floating spectre. It wore a long black robe and was hooded and cloaked. She drew a pistol and fired, and watched in horror as the creature's grey, emaciated hand swept out at blinding speed and batted the bullets aside like flies. She looked over her shoulder, and saw Jessica surrounded by three similar phantasms, and five more drifting over the wall and towards the trench.

"Take those fuckers down!" Bart roared, firing at the mass of black wraiths. While the actions of the spectres took place too rapidly for humans to observe, Jessica and Seras could see that the unnamed menaces would dodge the bullets, knock them aside with incredibly fast swipes, or merely take the rounds to their nercotic flesh, the wounds slowly healing in the most frightful of fashions. Rather than the seemingly organic, if vastly-accelerated, healing of vampires, it seemed as if fine black powder was flying towards, or falling up into, any wound made in the creatures, filling them in, and then seemingly becoming part of their foetid corpses.

One of the ghostly enemies reached the trenches. Brian drew his katana and struck at it, his blade passing slowly but smoothly through it, and regaining its momentum once it had passed through. Brian blanched and fainted, while the creature seemed to ignore the attack and focus on Bart. Bart fell back in the trench. Fr. Sean stepped between him and fiend.

"In the name of Christ Eternal-!"

The creature raised its pale, skeletal hand. The golden cross in Fr. Sean's hand began to glow, and Fr. Sean screamed in pain as his skin began to burn. Gritting his teeth, he advanced, supporting his right arm with the other. The wight let out a shrill scream. The cross began to drip molten copper and iron, and the skin of Fr. Sean's hand blackened and cracked.

"Guh!...Ex umbris ad lucem! Ex umbris ad lucem!"

The black spirit was now backed against the wall of the trench, while the others waited a few meters off, as is watching the conflict between their unearthly kin and its mortal opponent. The creature held its hands in front of itself, and seemed to shake its head under its hood. A shrill and yet deeply resonant sound, like the voices of several whispers distorted through electronic tweaking, reverberated from the hooded thing.

"_Ygnaiih…! Ygnaiih! Ygnaiih thflthkh'ngha! Yog…Yog-Sothoth!"_

The fire of his own burning flesh lighting his blue eyes, Fr. Sean pressed the cross ever closer, shouting in English, Latin, and a language no one could recognize.

"Shrr'rrf't't! K'rruun namat! By the blood of the martyrs, by the power of Christ, by His holy Cross, His Victory of Death, and by the Eternal Word, the pervading and cosmic _Logos_,I command thee! _Ex umbris ad lucem!_"

"_Y'bthnk h'eehye-n'grkdl'h! EH-YAAA!!! N'GHAAA!!!"_

"_AAAAh!!"_

The priest threw the fiery crucifix, chunks of charred flesh falling from his hand. The fiery cross flew into the hooded thing's cloak, and then a hideous, deafening shriek filled the air. The other spectres seemed to flinch in shock as the cloak of their friend burst aflame. Eerie, violet and clear, almost crystalline pale flames leapt from the cuffs and hood, and a foul, clinging, sickly-sweet green vapour issued forth. The robes collapsed, empty save for singular smears a sticky, yellow substance that clung to the fabric. The remaining spectres shrieked, in rage or sadness none could tell. Fr. Sean lost conciousness and fell. The wights flew at the trench, including the ones on the wall near the two ally vampires, eager to avenge their fellow's death.

Yumie jumped out of the trench and drug Brian back into the trench. His face was pale and clammy with perspiration. She splashed water on his face and slapped him, bringing him slowly to panicked awareness. She restrained his initial confused efforts to kill her, then helped him to his feet as he continued to gasp for air. He saw Fr. Sean's charred hand, and hissed a curse under his breath.

Bart stepped over the priest's body, straddling his unconscious form. He affixed the bayonet to his rifle and pulled his chain bearing his holy medals and dog tag out from his shirt. He shouted and thrust the bayonet forward at the advancing ghouls. The freakish attackers glided forward with a disturbing and deliberate slowness. The defenders continued firing, their bullets passing harmlessly through the advancing black nightmares. Gina, in a display of rash courage, grabbed another crucifix and threw it at the approaching horde. With an infuriated shriek, the nearest spectral fiend shot into her and pinned her to the ground, its thin, bony fingers firmly wrapped around her throat. Gina gasped and struggled as a cold, crushing weight settled upon her chest. A suffocating foetor would emanate from beneath the monster's hood, and Gina, in the moments before strangulation and tears obscured all clear vision and perspicacity, thought that she saw the vague outline of a round, domed head beneath the black hood.

Bart stabbed the creature with his bayonet, only to feel a sharp electric burning rise up his arms. He screamed and released his hold of his rifle, watching in shock as it was propelled by an unseen force out from the creature's body. It clattered to the ground as another spectre seized Bart and threw him against the wall of Brian's ruined house. Bart thrashed and kicked, his fists meeting with a repellant rubberiness. He heard the Hellsing men at the machine gun scream as one of the fiends produced a sword from its robes. He heard garbled yells and the soft thump bodies striking the ground. His eyes began to roll upwards, and it was then he saw what appeared to be the snout of an immense black dog. The fiend looked up, and saw the hound's mouth open, revealing an immense black void. The jaws snapped down on the wraith's head, and it released Bart. He looked up and saw the hellhound was standing on the side of the building like an immense black fly. The dog shook its prey in its mouth, then tossed it up and swallowed it whole.

"Master!" Seras shouted with joy.

Alucard stood in the middle of Brian's front lawn, his arms outstretched, pointing his pistols to the ground. His face was obscured by darkness, but his eyes gleamed red from the shadow. He gave his head a slight nod, and the hellhound pounced and knocked the wraith from atop Gina. It devoured the monster with hideous voracity, its wounded victim struggling and clawing at the ground as it was swallowed feet-first. The remaining spectres shrieked in horror. The hellhound pounced again, crushing one spectre under is massive paws and seizing another in its fangs. It was beginning to swallow the first wraith when the fiend that had killed the Hellsing gunners with a sword approached and swung. A second head burst from the hound's right shoulder and bit down upon the spectre's head. A third emerged from the hellhound's other shoulder, seizing the wight that had been trying to flee. By the time that wraith was swallowed, the central head had devoured both the creature it had initially seized and the one that had been pinned beneath the devil dog's forefeet.

The remaining spectres flew shrieking at Alucard, having discovered by some sense unfamiliar to earthly creatures that he was the one controlling the spectral hound. Seras screamed and flew down from the wall, placing herself between her vampiric sire and the approaching wraiths. Alucard chuckled, his Cheshire Cat grin visible from the gloom that obscured his features. The immense hellhound condensed into a black shadow upon the lawn, and swiftly overtook the flying creatures. It rematerialized in front of them in the form of an immense, singular dog's head, and devoured them in a single bite. Alucard chuckled again, tilting his head back, his face now visible in the light of Brian's burning home.

Brian leant against the bloodstained wall of the trench. He looked up, eyes narrowing, saying "What…'The Flight of the Valkyries'?"

The others looked at him with confusion. Then, slowly, they heard it too-the familiar movement so long used as a leitmotif for oncoming doom. The familiar _thupthupthup_ of helicopters was heard immediately afterwards, and even as they began to shout for joy at their deliverance, a swarm of helicopters flew over the ruined farmhouse and opened fire at the mob of ghouls that had been slowly making their way up the sloping lawn. The shambling mob of corpses was struck by a wall of flying lead, and their rotting forms crumbled to the ground.

A second set of helicopters flew over the house and landed on the lawn. The medics and soldiers rushed out.

"About fucking time!" Bart yelled.

The leading soldier, an officer in a Hellsing uniform, rolled his eyes.

"You're welcome. Any wounded."

"Yeah, three of ours and about ten of yours. Same number of your guys are dead."

"Bugger. Alright, we'll get them all out. We're operating from a carrier cruiser just offshore."

"We'll need extra chopper crews, most of pilots snuffed it," said one of the few survivors from the original Hellsing detachment.

"We have them, don't worry. Okay, let's get the lead out, lads! Move it!"

Atop his skyscraper lookout in the center of Springfield, the First lead out an infuriated roar. He turned to a spectre, of the kind that he had sent to the farmhouse, and spat at it.

"You sent them there to kill all the survivors. A single ghast was sufficient, I thought, but you thought you'd play it safe and send _nine_. And _nine_ of them couldn't even kill more than three petty grunts!"

The wraith answered, its voice sounding like multiple different, echoing whispers.

"We did not count on _him_ being there. Even our kind are not match for his magic."

"He's a vampire not even a millennium old and he killed nine of you! I ought to send you back to the babbling chaos that spawned you!" snapped the Master, pointing a clawed finger at the ghast's hooded face.

"I do not take kindly to threats. My father is not a being that can be reasoned with, my friend. Your powers are as nothing compared to his, even with that book, and I know for certain that _his_ coming here to deal with you would not be pleasant for you."

A brief glimmer of fear played across the First's face. The ghast spoke of something older and more terrible than the oldest and most powerful vampire on earth, a crawling, mindless darkness that could destroy the very stars and blot the sun from the sky.

"Listen well, ghast…you and your kind came here at my behest. I gave you the bodies of my followers to inhabit so you could interact with this world, for your bodies are composed of substances that don't even exist within this universe. I promised you immortality and positions of power in exchange for aiding in my return to power. Back _there_ you were but slaves, the lowest of beings save for humans. Fail again, and your father Y-"

The creature shrieked, cutting him off.

"Very well," it hissed, "But we will not confront the Midian. He is your rival, he is for you to destroy."

The Master sneered. "You make him sound as if he is my equal."

"Your equal? No, he is not…"

The Master furrowed his brow. He looked back at the scene of the battle. Bomber planes were now raining destruction upon his army of ghouls.

"The impertinence of them."

He looked back at the ghast.

"Take care of them."

"With pleasure."


	31. Gentlemen, you can't fight in here!

"Gentlemen, you can't fight in here

"_Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room." _

Homer was possibly the most relaxed individual in the room. That being said, he was also quite possibly the least intelligent individual in the room; also, the ample supply of free donuts and coffee also did wonders for his comfort level.

His family, however, was visibly not at-ease. Marge looked back and forth, from her husband, gorging himself at the snack table, to Fr. Sean, sitting in morose silence in his seat across the table, to Sir Hellsing, who was smoking her third cigar since she entered the war room, to Mulder and Scully, who were seated on either side of the FBI Director, Robert Mueller. Bart sat with Gina, Millhouse, and his other childhood friends. They would speak occasionally, with someone, usually Nelson or Millhouse, would attempting a joke, which would then be followed by furtive laughter, or, more often in the case of Millhouse's jokes, awkward silence and a quick punch to the arm, and then a return to anxious quiet.

Lisa chose to isolate herself, standing off behind the where the others were sitting. She would look over at Brian once in a while, but look away as soon as he began to turn his head. Brian was seated between Skinner and Sideshow Bob and. He and Lisa had not spoken for three days, and, painful as it was for him to think such, they would probably never speak again, and most certainly never be able to reach where they had once been. He had been alternating between bouts of weeping, praying, and jogging in the cold, late East Coast autumn winds. He'd been pouring over his worldview-forming books-the writings of the Church Doctors, Church Fathers and mystics, and various modern Catholic writers. He was trying to see if what he had done was wrong, if so, how wrong? He was at a loss. He had killed humans, ones that were not threatening another's life.

He looked over at Heinkel and Yumiko, who were sitting near Fr. Sean in the section around the round conference table reserved for the Vatican representatives, who, like the President, members of the cabinet and military, were yet to arrive. _How can their actions be acceptable in the light of reason, let alone the Faith? Perhaps they are Iscariots-damning themselves by their actions, serving the necessary but tragic role of the betrayer-disciples, crucifying their own God yet again with every sin, to further the world's salvation. Do their works even help the Church? Maybe the Church isn't even meant for world domination. Perhaps…our decline, our gradual diminishment, the slow dwindling in the numbers of true believers, and the political and social clout of those believers, means that the end is near. The world will not end in triumph, but in the persecution of the believers, false prophets, war, and death. Yes, perhaps this is the end._

Lisa looked at Bart and his friends. _How can they be laughing now? And still it is only hollow laughter. They're nervous. Mom's nervous. Dad's…Dad. I don't know what Brian is anymore. He's lost himself, lost his soul. He's right that I don't know his past, what he's been through. But how can it be that it has made him an extremist like it has? What evil has he seen that's forced him into the arms of violence and hate, rather than a rejection of belief, and a retreat into the safety of ignorance and methodological naturalism? He's looking sick._ She noticed him put another piece of gum in his mouth. _At least he's stopped smoking. But that's made him even more short-tempered. _

The war room doors opened, the president, vice-president, secretaries of Defense, Homeland Security, and State, and their numerous assistants and sub-secretaries, entered. Everyone rose from their seats. Regardless of their love or hatred for him, all in the room shared a degree of excitement and nervousness facing the President and Vice President of the United States. Marge felt more worried than anything, fearing that he wouldn't believe them, that he either wouldn't help them, or wouldn't be able to help. Sideshow Bob eyed the President and Vice President with predatorial coolness. The President, in his affected Texas drawl and a poorly-faked air of friendliness, said

"Ladies, Gentlemen, thanks fer bein' here. Please, have a seat."

Bob gave a derisive "A-hem" and waited a few seconds before returning to his seat.

The president and his entourage waited for the others to be seated before they too took their seats. The President, his hands folded on the table in front of himself, looked around the room, half-squinting and grinning stupidly. He looked over at Sir Integra.

"Miss 'Ntegra, how are ya?"

The British noblewoman bit down a little more forcefully on her cigar so as to mask her contempt; she smiled and replied,

"I am as well as I can be under the current circumstances. How are you, Mr. President? The war going well?"

The president gave an ironic grin, and replied with equal irony,

"Oh yes, things are going quite smoothly in th'Middle East. Got some sporadic violence from a few leftover insurgents, but democracy-and freedom-will prevail."

No one smiled, save the president himself, for his words rung hollow to his secretaries, and, despite his snug grin, to himself. Lisa's rage was near boiling, and she was quietly calculating how many members of the president's entourage she could kill before the Secret Service could shoot her dead.

"Now…," continued the President, "Weren't there supposed to be a delegation from the Pope er somethin'?"

The Vice President coughed and sat up in his chair, "Yes, after all, were it not for the Vatican all of you would be classified as terrorists, what with your guerrilla campaign, illegal arms, and-," he eyed Sir Integra, who replied with a raised eyebrow and a twitch of the cigar between her teeth, "collaboration with foreign powers."

The Vice President shifted his hefty frame in his chair, then continued, "Now, its not that we're not grateful for your efforts, but we cannot condone this kind of vigilantism. It is only by the combined influences of the British and Vatican Embassies, and Mr. Mulder, Ms. Scully, and Mr. Mueller, who were all willing to risk their careers with the Federal Bureau of Investigations, as well as criminal charges, to vouch for your good faith. Also…"

The Vice-President's words were interrupted by another arrival. The doors to the conference room were flung open, causing the Secret Servicemen present to jump and aim their Uzi machinepistols and MP-5 submachine guns. A strange ensemble stood on the threshold, surveying the seated members of the conference. After a few moments of uncertainty, the crossed the threshold and entered the room. Two men in the garb of archbishops walked at the front of the group. Sideshow Bob recognized one of the men; the older one, mustached and bespectacled, was Fr. Ronaldo Balducci, former second-command of the Iscariot Organization. Fr. Ronaldo and the younger archbishop were flanked by roughly a dozen young priests in long, black coats, and several dozen armed troops. The soldiers wore outfits similar to those worn by the Swiss Guards, only their shirts, pants, boots, and the plumes atop their silver helms were pure black. Their shining helmets had full faceplates, with tinted plexiglass goggles, giving them more than a passing resemblance to the stormtroopers from the "Star Wars" films. All the soldiers carried either a halberd or billhook, and they wore broadswords and pistols on their hips. Across their backs were strung more modern weapons-assault rifles, shotguns, and submachine guns.

Fr. Sean, Yumiko, and Heinkel stood and bowed respectfully, and then knelt and kissed the rings of the two archbishops. Fr. Ronaldo and the younger both blessed them, tracing the Sign of the Cross with their pointer and middle fingers, and then walked past Sir Integra and over to the Springfielders. They slowly stood, then, taking their lead from Sideshow Bob, knelt. Fr. Ronaldo and the younger archbishop presented their rings to both Sergeant Skinner and Bob, then blessed the group, and then, walking back past Sir Integra, took their seats near Fr. Sean. Fr. Sean, Heinkel, and Yumiko sat once the two archbishops were seated, while the trenchcoated priests and black-clothed guards formed two concentric circles around the table, standing facing the assembled delegates and noticeably agitating the already antsy Secret Servicemen standing along the walls.

The younger archbishop cleared his throat, then spoke in a wavering voice,

"Ah…um, His Holiness Benedict the Sixteenth, Shepherd and Pontiff of the Catholic Church in Rome, and Successor to the Chair of St. Peter, extends his blessings to you, Mr. President, and to the ladies and gentlemen of the government and armed forces of the United States."

The young archbishop paused, taking a few nervous breaths, then continued,

"His Holiness has prepared for you, this-," he paused again, as Fr. Ronaldo handed him a thick stack of papers, "-this set of documents, attesting to statues of the Organization known as the Knights of St. Michael Springfield chapter as a branch of the Vatican, and, as such, privy to diplomatic immunity."

He held out of the stack of papers, offering them to the president. The president nodded to one of his aides, who then walked briskly over to the Archbishop, took the documents from him, and handed them to the president. The president looked briefly at the documents, his lips moving as he read each word, then, furrowing his brow, he took the stack of documents shoved them at the Secretary of State, who took them and, donning her reading glasses, began to carefully read them.

The Vice President sneered and said, "So what you're telling us is that some old man in a funny hat, who rules some tiny joke of a nation smaller than Philadelphia, is granting his official pardon to these felons-" he pointed a pale, flabby finger directly at Bart, who responded by grimacing and loudly popping his knuckles, "-and is saying that they're some part of his bullshit country's army. Fine. That still makes them foreign combatants within the United States borders, and during a time of war!"

The young bishop stood up angrily, his chair falling over behind him. His face was red, and a vein throbbed in his right temple as he slammed his fists on the table, and then pointed at the Vice-President and hissed viciously, his Italian accent coming in stronger than previously

"Don't give me your Global War on Terror bullshit, you fat Protestant pig! Your sorry 'war' is nothing more than a global witch hunt for anyone who opposes your corrupt empire's brutality and decadence, or anyone who opposes the existence of that socialist, racist Zionist state you so falsely call Israel, a state you ignorant American cunts support because you believe its existence is somehow necessary for the Second Coming of Christ!"

"Don't yell at me, you blood-drinking raping Mary worshiper!" screamed the Vice-President.

The room was immediately filled with the sound of flipping chairs and the drawing of firearms. Each of the baker's dozen of trenchcoated priests whipped two pistols from inside their robes. The Secret Servicemen aimed their weapons, and shaking with fear as they came to realize that, with the Swiss Guards, the armed priests, and the Springfield Hunters, they were outnumbered at least two to one. The president tugged on the Vice President's sleave. The VP looked at him, angered by the interruption, then looked at his chest, where he saw the bright, flickering green and red dots from at least seven different firearms' laser sights. Biting the inside of his cheek, the Vice President sat down, sweating profusely. The archbishops' contingent of body guards lowered their weapons, and the Springfield Hunters and Secret Servicemen imitated them.

The young archbishop grinned, and then seemed to chortle throatily. However, as the chortle slowly grew to a cold laugh, the color drained from the clergyman's face, and it became apparent that the laughter was not his own. A terrible blackness, like a tendril of tangible shadow, began to descend from the ceiling, and came to rest behind Sir Integra's chair. A fiery red sigil appeared on the ceiling above the conference table, a pentagram surrounded by Hebrew characters and obscure runes, brighter and purer in its hue than a laser. The sigil drifted slowly downwards, like a two-dimensional ghost, and, shrinking down to the size of an old silver dollar, came to rest on the side of the column of inky darkness. The blackness slowly faded, revealing the form of the vampire Alucard, and the glowing sigil to be the seal on the back of Alucard's glove. The vampire's eyes gleamed like hot coals, and his deep belly laugh filled the high-ceilinged room.

"Yet again, the Church sees it fit to use violence to enforce obedience to its decrees, even in this day and age! You Catholics never cease to amuse me!"

The young archbishop's eyes trembled as focused on the red-suited vampire. Alucard took a few slow, graceful steps forward, and tilted his head back, studying the young clergyman. The archbishop regained his composure, and gave a friendly smile.

"The infamous vampire Alucard! My predecessor and mentor, Archbishop Maxwell's undoing!" he exclaimed. He bowed with a flourish of his hands, "Archbishop Luca Boccaccio, of the Vatican's Parte XIII, Iscariote."

Alucard smiled faintly, showing just a bit of his white fangs. Fr. Luca spoke once more,

"As a priest and man of Iscariot, I am dedicated to the destruction of your kind. But, unlike Maxwell, I am a rational man, and know when to ally with one devil to fight another, more powerful devil! I despise you for being the Undead, yet at least your kind make no pretenses about your evil-," he glanced over his shoulder at the President and his crew, "-unlike others here present. Such as they, who have rejected reason, _Logos_. Such men are like animals, in that all they have are their emotions, of which fear is the most powerful. Thus, we speak to them with fear, something you should understand of all people…Sir Knight."

Alucard's smile faded at the archbishop's last words. Sir Integra put out her cigar and spoke,

"Enough of this juvenile posturing and grandstanding! Mr. President, prosecuting these individual would be pointless. They sacrificed more than you could conceive to defend their homes against the Undead, and they did so with full blessing and cooperation of the city government, local law enforcement, and the FBI, not to mention the British Armed Forces and the Vatican."

She paused, taking another cigar from Walter, who lit it for her. She puffed on it briefly, then took it from her mouth, and said, grinning, "Honestly, what were they to have done? Allowed the freaks to kill them? Report the events to the press? They'd have wound up in a lunatic asylum, and their city would have been overrun all the sooner. Even if they'd had found a receptive ear, your military is stretched thin and exhausted, and utterly unprepared to handle supernatural forces. If anything, you owe them."

The President frowned and whispered to his aides, who quietly argued amongst themselves before one whispered something to the President. Scully sighed and rolled her eyes, while Mulder leaned back in his chair, his arms hands behind his head. The President, Cabinet, and assorted aides whispered amongst themselves for a few minutes, called Robert Mueller over, then dismissed him, then called him back once more, then called Mulder and Sully over as well, then dismissed them and continued talking to Mueller, then dismissed him to his seat once more, and then, finally, came to a conclusion. The Secretary of State spoke,

"The President, Vice President, Secretaries of Defense and Homeland Security, the Secretary General, and myself, are in agreement not to prosecute the members of the group known as the Springfield chapter of the Knights of St. Michael, and to henceforth recognize it as a legitimate organization, subordinate to the Vatican State. As such, its members are recognized as possessing diplomatic immunity, and exemption to any laws regarding the use of force or firearms."

"Whoo!" Homer yelled, jumping up, "Firearms!"

The president exhaled and then puffed out his cheeks in frustration. He fiddled distractedly with his pen, then looked at the three individuals from the FBI. His secretary of state then spoke, asking,

"Mr. Mueller, what information does the Federal Bureau of Investigations have regarding this…supernatural threat to our nation?"

Mr. Mueller cleared his throat and replied,

"Miss Secretary, I believe that Mr. Mulder and Miss Scully, being best-informed regarding the current state of affairs, ought to speak themselves. Mr. Mulder?"

Mulder nodded to his boss. He stood up, nodded towards the president, and then spoke,

"We are facing an extremely powerful monster. This monster is a vampire: an immortal creature that prolongs its unnatural existence by drinking the blood of living humans. He possesses super strength, super speed, the power of flight, the ability to change his strength, and he is immune to all conventional weapons. He claims, in fact, to be the original vampire, and this claim is supported by his incredible power, and his strong following amongst the vampires. He is amassing an army of vampires, zombies, and various supernatural creatures, and plans, if you'll pardon the tired cliché, to conquer the earth."

Mulder paused. The Hunters did not need to hear his recap, and indeed, hearing how dire their situation was made it all the worse. For the president and his entourage, however, this was the first confirmation of their worst fears. The president hid his face in his arms, and Lisa was amazed, because she thought that she could hear him faintly sobbing. The vice president looked askance, sneering and gritted his teeth, while the other members of the cabinet whispered urgently. Mulder began speaking again, bringing their frantic consultation to a halt.

"The vampire, who is called 'the First', and 'the Master', has gained possession of an ancient book, called the _Necronomicon_. The book is one of the rare copies of an ancient text, and it is not only one of the few legitimate books of magic, but it is also the most powerful. The copy in question was stolen from the Vatican archives seven months ago, during what the civilian press labeled a 'terrorist attack'. The only other copies that have been declared legitimate by occult scholars and historians are in the possession of the University of Oxford and Arkham University in Massachusetts, and both copies are, while the most complete copies aside from the one stolen from the Vatican, not truly Necronomicons, but translations in early modern English, and are themselves based on the Arabic _Necronomicon, _entitled _Al__Azīf_, which was written by Abdul Alhazred sometime in the eighth century."

The Secretary of Defense raised his hand. Mulder nodded towards him and asked,

"Yes, Mr. Gates?"

"Mr. Mulder…what precisely is in this _Necronomy-con_?"

Mulder frowned, then answered,

"Well, sir, I think that is one of the most frightening aspects of it. The book is mentioned most famously in the works of the early twentieth century horror and science-fiction author H.P. Lovecraft. Lovecraft, himself, in all likelihood, familiar with the actual book itself, worked to cover up its existence by claiming that it was fictional, and purely his own invention. However, the FBI's own X-file division has verifiable historical documentation of the books existence, which verifies the allegedly fictional history that Lovecraft gives the book. For his part, Lovecraft, while often mentioning the book, rarely quotes from it, or even discusses its contents. However, if his stories are even close to reality, then the _Necronomicon_ contains powers that are horrific. Ms. Scully, the Springfield Hunters, and myself have witnessed the bodies of diseased human beings return to life as something other than zombies."

The Secretary of State interrupted.

"Excuse me, Mr. Mulder, could you please clarify?"

"Yes, Miss Secretary. A zombie is a reanimated corpse with minimal intelligence and coordination that instinctively consumes the flesh of the living. Zombies that are created by a vampire by killing a non-virgin over the age of seven are generally called "ghouls", so as to distinguish them from zombies created by other means, be they scientific or supernatural. A vampire's ghoul possesses greater intelligence and coordination than other types of zombie-they can use weapons, for example-and can be controlled to some degree by the vampire that created them. Ghouls, though dangerous if armed or in large numbers, are easily killed by shooting them in the heart or head, or otherwise, by puncturing the heart of the skull, or by decapitation. The reanimated corpses created by the _Necronomicon_, however, are immune to such means of destruction. Shooting them in the head or heart does nothing, even with blessed bullets made of pure silver. Decapitate them, and their headless body will continue to stagger around. Cut off their hands, and they'll crawl at you like 'The Thing' in 'Addams Family. You can only stop them by burning them to nothing, or chopping them to bits."

"God…Fuck!" the vice president grumbled.

"To stress the threat these 'deadites' pose, imagine, if you will, every corpse in Arlington rising up and attacking the living..."

"Thank you, Mr. Mulder, that will be all," said the Secretary of State, holding up her hand. Mulder nodded, and returned to his seat.

The room was quiet except for the rustling of paper and whispering within the president's entourage. After roughly a minute of near silence Archbishop Luca Boccaccio, leaning back in his chair, grinning confidently, announced loudly,

"Mr. President! His Holiness would be more than happy to assist your nation with logistic and military assistance in confronting this dire threat. The Church, as the servant of Christ, would be remiss in her duties if she did not directly confront this threat to the children of God, even though they might stray."

The president, smiling for the first time in nearly an hour, nodded, then leaned towards the Vice President, and, after a brief exchange with him and his advisors, leaned forward and replied,

"Thank you, padre, much appreciated. We'll be happy to accept your support."

"However," the young bishop said as he leapt to his feet and gestured dramatically, "Our help comes with a few preconditions! Fail to meet them, and we'll be forced to sit on our hands, and help your nation only through the sincerest of prayers for the fate of the souls of those who will surely die! Our first condition is oh-so-simple: you will end your wars in Iraq and Afghanistan!"

"Now wait just a-!" the vice president began before the bishop cut him off.

"_Second_, you will end your policies of intervention in all nations of the world! Your nation's armed forces will remain, barring an actual declaration of war by your congress, on American soil! _Three_, you will end your policy of economic sanctions, which you use to enforce your hegemony upon other nations by starving their people. _Fourth, _you will release all illegally-detained individuals in Guantanamo and other such gulags, and apologize to them, their families, and the world. _Fifth, _you will end all, in any form, to the illegal Zionist entity that calls itself Israel. _Sixth, _you will apologize to all American Catholics who voted for the Republican Party in the last thirty years. Your party has deceived and abused Catholics by posing as the opposition to the Democrats; Your party pretended to oppose the party's anti-Catholic positions on abortion and immorality, when it really just wanted their votes, and was more concerned with tax-cuts for the wealthy and pleasing its corporate masters than ending abortion and protecting the American worker. _Seventh-_"

"How many more?!" the president yelled. He had become increasingly agitated throughout the bishop's list of demands, and had finally burst, his face red and a vein throbbing in his temple.

"_Just a few more, Georgie boy! Seventh! You will finally give the American worker his due protection! _Minimum wages will be raised so that one can live above the poverty line on them, and they will be raised automatically each quarter to compensate for inflation! You'll make it so that no farmland can be used for anything other than farming, and impose stiff tariffs on the importation of agricultural goods that are produced in America, so as to halt overdevelopment and the loss of American farmer's jobs! You'll also ban outsourcing, and impose tariffs on Chinese goods that will make anything made in mainland China unable to compete in the market! And finally…"

The bishop paused, panting. He was sweating, and his eyes were those of a wild man. He held both his hands out in front of him, and proclaimed the final condition,

"Finally, you, your vice president, and your entire cabinet…will resign-!"

The president stood up, slamming his hands on the table and glaring at the bishop.

"You're proposing that our nation surrender to its enemies! That we shrink into isolation and poverty! I'll never have it!"

"_Your nation is finished, Mr. President!_" the bishop shouted in reply, his grin stretching even wider, "You stand between obliteration and humility, and like the apocalypse-inviting fools you are, you pick obliteration! Every empire in history must fall, and you have embraced the path of empire that leads to your inevitable doom! How many must die, Mr. President, Mr. Cheney, before you see that you are wrong?"

"_We're never wrong!_" The vice president roared, "Go fuck yourself, you altar-boy raping faggot!"

The Swiss guards simultaneously trained their weapons on the president's entourage. The Secret Service raised their weapons, while Heinkel, Yumie, and all the Springfielders leapt to their feet, drawing their swords, knives, and pistols. Bishop Luca laughed wildly and shrieked,

"No, Mr. Cheney, _you _are the ones who can go fuck _yourselves!_"

"You'll never leave this room alive, now!" the Secretary of State stated, smiling coolly.

"If that is what God requires of me, then so be it! If I die, then the Holy Father Himself will publicly denounce the United States! He'll say that all Catholics are not to pay taxes or work for the government, and that, if they die resisting, it counts are martyrdom! He'll forbid all the world's one billion Catholics from visiting America or buying American products, and offer total absolution and martyrdom to those who die in battle against the U.S., and compensation for their families! Between that, your hopeless military endeavors in Asia, and the vampires…well…" He raised an eyebrow.

The president had his head in his hands. He shook his head, his lips mouthing "No, no, no…" One of his aides tapped him on the shoulder, and then, after getting no response, moved next to the president, and grabbed his shoulder.

"Mr. President…?"

The president looked up; he was tired, and looked old and pitiful with his ruddy, tearstained face. He listened to the aide, then shook his head, and said something to his entourage. He gestured to the Secret Servicemen, who reluctantly lowered their arms. The Hunters did likewise, and then, after a gesture and nod of approval from

Sir Integra, who had remained unmoved throughout the entire standoff, inquired calmly,

"Father Boccaccio…"

The Archbishop turned slightly, looking at the woman over his right shoulder.

"Does your Pope have any demands for the British government as well?"

Fr. Boccaccio turned to address the lady knight.

"I do not see how we could have any conditions vis-à-vis the British government. If we desire to help the Americans, it is they who are in a position of indebtedness to the Vatican, not Britain."

"True…," Sir Integra replied, her cigar hanging from her lips, looking at the archbishop over her interlocked fingers.

"Also, I am almost certain that the British will be less than inclined to take orders from the Catholic Church, all historical and demographic matters taken into account."

"Also true," she replied, her eyes narrowing.

"However, with the American withdrawing from Afghanistan and Iraq, it would only follow that Britain, and the rest of the…"Coalition of the Willing"…would have to withdraw as well. After all, the Americans constitute the majority of troops in each country, and the wars _are _American affairs."

Sir Integra weighed her response, then spoke,

"At this point, the British people would be all too happy to see the troops return. The war is even more unpopular in the UK than here."

The archbishop smiled and nodded.

"Yes," he laughed, his ponytail flipping as he nodded his head, "'Bring the boys back home!', as one Pink Floyd once sang."

"However," she interjected, pausing to take her cigar out of her mouth and extinguish in the ash tray Walter held, "We are strongly opposed to any attempts to blackmail the United Kingdom into compliance with your demands. We will aid the United States, with our without your assistance, and we at the Hellsing Organization are just as adept at confronting the Undead as you Iscariots."

The archbishop shrugged and smiled.

"I see no reason for us to fight, Sir Hellsing," he replied cordially, "Though we both consider each other apostate, we are both practicing Christians, and both warriors dedicated to the destruction of the Undead and the defense of mankind and Christendom. If we destroy, secularism, godlessness, the heathens, and the unholy undead, will be all that are left!"

Sir Integra's upper lip curled slightly. She looked towards the president and his staff.

"Mr. President," she stated in a clear, firm voice, "I advise you accept the Vatican's demands, however ridiculous they may be. The world now stands against you, Mr. President, when it once, back on the morning of September eleventh, two thousand and one, it stood united with you. You have squandered that support, as well as most of the support and respect that existed before that day. Do not shame yourself or your nation any more."

The Vice President spat a reply at Sir Integra,

"Don't you start!"

Alucard materialized behind the Vice President, and set his hands on the back of his chair. The President, his cabinet, and aides all flinched and gasped. The Vice President, seeing the expressions of terror on his fellows' faces, slowly turned his head. Looking up, he saw the piercing red eyes. His face became pale. He fell out of his chair, and then clutched his left breast, grunting, as his eyes bulged. He began to gasp, causing the Secretary of State to shout,

"Get a medic! Call 911!"

The aides started chattering frantically, and three ran out of the room, taking two Secret Service men with them. Alucard frowned. The vice president was lying on his back, staring up at him, his face growing ever paler, and his breaths ever shallower. He decided to leave the room, fading out of sight as the paramedics rushed in with a stretcher.

"No good," his voice rumbled, even though he was already invisible, "He's already dead…"

The president, whose demeaner and physical condition had been deteriorating throughout the meeting, looked like he too was about to have a heart attack. He shook his head in disbelief, then rose and left, his aides and cabinet, after a brief flutter of surprised confusion, followed. The Secret Servicemen waited until the entire presidential entourage had left, and then they too departed, the last one closing the door to the conference room as he left.

"Well," said Fr. Sean casually, "That all went rather well."


End file.
